ROMAN    LEGENDS 


A     COLLECTION     OF 


THE    FABLES    AND    FOLK-LORE 

OF 

ROME 


BY 

R.  H.  BUSK 

LUTHOR    OF    '  SAGAS    FROM    THE    FAR    EAST '  ftc.    '  HOUSEHOLD    STORIES    FROM 
THE    LAND    OF    HOFER'    4c. 


BOSTON 

COPTR10HT    AKD    PUBLISHED    BY 

ESTES    AND    LAURIAT 

1877 


83325 


r  *-> 

9- 


PREFACE. 


I  HAD  HEARD  it  so  often  positively  asserted  that  modern 
Italy  had  no  popular  mythology,  and  no  contribution  of 
special  versions  to  offer  to  the  world's  store  of  Tradition- 
ary Tales,  that,  while  possessing  every  opportunity,  I  was 
many  years  without  venturing  to  set  myself  against  the 
prevailing  opinion  so  far  as  to  attempt  putting  it  to  the 
proof. 

A  certain  humble  friend,  however,   used   time  after 
&    time  so  to  impress  me  with  the  fancy  that  she  had  all  the 
qualifications  for  being  a  valuable  repository  of  such  lore 
2    if  it  only  existed,  that  I  was  finally  led  to  examine  her  on 
^    the  subject.     She  gave  me  a  capital  opportunity  one  day 
34    when,  during  a  visit  to  a  bedridden  cripple  whom  she 
nursed,  she  was  flapping  the  dust  off  the  pictures  and 
ornaments  with  a  feather-brush  according  to  the  Eoman 
idea  of  dusting.     '  I  never  do  any  dusting,'  she  said  the 
while,  '  but  I  always  think  of  Monsignor  Delegate  dusting 
the  altar  of  the  holy  house  of  Loreto.     And  now  I  think 
of  it,  he  was  not  called  Monsignor  Delegato,  but  Mon- 
signor Commissario.  But  every  evening  of  my  life  while  I 
was  young  and  living  at  Loreto,  I  have  seen  him  dust  the 
altar  of  the  Santa  Casa  at  23  o'clock,1  before  they  shut 

'  An  hour  before  the  evening  Ave. 


vi  Preface. 

up  the  church,  saying  a  Salve  Regina  for  the  benefactors 
of  the  spot.'  If  she  was  so  familar  with  Loreto,  I  con- 
cluded, and  had  so  noticed  and  remembered  its  customs, 
probably  she  was  not  ignorant  of  its  Legends  either,  and 
I  commenced  my  inquisition  at  once. 

I  have  not  given  her  Legends  of  Loreto  in  the  text 
because,  being  tolerably  familiar,  they  were  among  those 
which  could  best  be  sacrificed  to  the  exigencies  of  space. 
I  gathered  on  that  day,  however,  one  version  of  S.  Giovanni 
Bocca  d'oro,  with  two  stories  of  Padre  Filippo :  and  her 
subsequent  testimony  concerning  the  crucifix  of  Scirollo 
came  in  usefully  (pp.  1 93, 1 95)  in  illustration  of  the  Legend 
of  Pietro  Bailliardo ;  but,  what  was  precious  to  me  above 
all,  I  gained  the  proof  and  earnest  that  there  was  certainly 
a  vein  of  legendary  lore  underlying  the  classic  soil  of  Kome, 
and  that  it  only  remained  to  find  the  means  of  working  it. 

I  first  lazily  set  myself  to  hunt  through  the  bookshops, 
new  and  old,  to  find  any  sort  of  collection  of  traditionary 
tales  ready  made  ;  but  only  with  the  effect  of  establishing 
the  fact  that  no  Italian  Grimm  had  yet  arisen  to  collect 
and  organise  them,  and  put  them  into  available  shape.1 

It  is  true  the  erudite  and  indefatigable  Cesare  Cantu 
has  found  time  in  the  midst  of  his  more  important  labours 

1  Professor  de  Gubernatis  (whose  work  was  not  published  till  my  col- 
lection had  long  been  in  progress)  fills  a  far  more  important  place  than 
that  of  a  mere  collector  of  legends.  His  vast  generalisations,  indeed,  touch 
less  upon  the  household  tales  of  Italy  than  those  of  any  other  country,  and 
those  which  he  does  introduce  are  entirely  from  Tuscany  and  Piedmont.  I 
had  not  the  advantage  of  seeing  either  his  book  on  '  Zoological  Mythology,' 
or  Mr.  Cox's  '  Mythology  of  the  Aryan  Nations,'  till  after  my  MS.  was  in 
the  printer's  hands,  and  was  not  able,  therefore,  to  give  references  in  my 
notes  to  the  places  where  their  interpretation  may  be  found,  though  each 
group  to  which  my  stories  respectively  belong  has  been  treated  by  them. 
It  is  a  treatment,  however,  which  requires  to  be  studied  as  a  whole,  and 
could  hardly  be  understood  under  any  piecemeal  reference. 


Preface.  vii 

to  illustrate  some  few  remnants  of  mediaeval  customs  and 
sayings  yet  lingering  in  the  north  of  Italy,  in  his  '  Novelle 
Lombarde ; '  and  he  tells  me  that  the  Balio  Benvenuti, 
also  of  Milan,  is  bringing  out  another  little  volume  about 
Lombard  customs ;  but  even  these  have  not  approached 
the  fairy  tales,  and  leave  Central  and  Southern  Italy  alto- 
gether untouched.1 

The  nearest  approach  to  the  material  of  which  I  was 
in  search  was  afforded  in  the  roughly  printed  rimed 
legends  which  itinerant  venders  sell  at  the  church  doors 
on  festa  days.  Among  the  collection  I  have  made  of 
these,  are  many  whose  quaintness  gives  them  special  in- 
terest, notwithstanding  their  baldness  of  style  and  diction  : 
but  the  matter  which  came  to  me  first  hand  seemed  to 
have  the  first  claim  to  publication ;  and  I  have,  therefore, 
put  these  among  my  reserve  for  a  second  series.2 

No  repository  of  Eoman  Folklore  was  to  be  found  ready- 
formed.  *  Who  among  us,'  writes  Cesare  Cantu  in  his  pre- 
face to  his  'Novelle  Lombarde,'  'knows  anything  about 
these  matters?  If  they  were  the  things  of  Scotland  or 
Touraine  we  should  all  have  read  them  long  ago  in  the 

1  There  are,  of  course,  the  older  collections  of  Straparola  and  Basile,  re- 
ferred to  by  Mr.  Campbell  and  Professor  De  Gubernatis,  not  to  speak  of  those 
of  Boccaccio  and  Sacchetti ;  but  these  were  made  for  quite  different  purposes 
than  that  of  supplying  Italy's  quota  to  the  study  of  Comparative  Mythology. 
The  comparatively  recent  '  Collection  of  Sicilian  Tales,'  by  Laura  Gonzen- 
bach,  mentioned  by  Professor  De  Gubernatis,  I  did  not  know  of,  and  have 
not  been  able  to  see.     Straparola's  collection  seems,  in  Home  at  least,  to 
have  fallen  into  the  oblivion  which  Mr.  Campbell  says  is  its  merited  lot. 
At  least,  not  only  was  it  not  mentioned  to  me  at  any  of  the  depots  where 
rare  books  are  a  specialite,  but  my  subsequent  inquiry  for  it  by  name  failed 
to  produce  a  copy. 

2  I  gave  a  translation  of  one  of  them,  containing  legendary  details  of 
the  '  Flight  into  Egypt,'  together  with  some  verses  of  a  Spanish  version  of 
the  same,  in  a  paper  on  '  Street  Music  in  Rome,'  in  the  '  Monthly  Packet ' 
of  December,  1868. 


viii  Preface. 

pages  of  Scott  or  Balzac.  But  here  among  us  there  are 
neither  writers  who  care  to  describe  nor  readers  who  take 
any  interest  in  learning  the  ways  of  our  own  country. 
People  like  to  seem  above  giving  their  attention  to  such 
homely  matters,  and  only  care  for  what  they  must  look  at 
through  a  telescope.' 

I  was  thus  thrown  back  on  my  own  powers  of  collecting, 
and  found  the  process,  however  fascinating  where  success- 
ful, much  more  uphill  work  than  it  had  promised  to  be  at 
the  outset.  Legends,  it  is  true,  there  was  less  difficulty 
in  obtaining.  There  might  be  some  sense  and  some  moral 
in  them,  and  I  found  people  were  not  ashamed  of  knowing 
them ;  but  it  long  remained  impossible  to  convince  per- 
sons who  had  even  betrayed  to  me  indications  that  they 
possessed  what  I  wanted,  to  own  fully  to  a  knowledge 
of  bond  fide  Fairy  Tales,  or  to  believe  that  I  could  be 
serious  in  wishing  to  listen  to  such  childish  nonsense. 

«  But  suppose  you  had  a  child  to  amuse,'  I  would  say 
at  last,  c  I  am  sure  you  would  sometimes  tell  it  a  marvellous 
story.' 

4  Ah,  a  creatura,1  yes  !  But  I  haven't  the  face  to  tell 
such  nonsense  to  your  signoria.' 

'  Never  mind  that,  if  I  want  to  hear  it.  Imagine  I 
am  the  weatura,  and  tell  me  one  of  your  tales.  I  want 
something  about  transformations,  fairy  gifts,  and  marvels 
of  all  sorts.' 

In  some  such  way,  after  due  precaution  taken  to  con- 
vince me  that  such  things  were  only  allowed  a  place  in  the 
memory  for  the  sake  of  amusing  children,  and  not  because 
anyone  believed  in  them,  one  tale  after  another  would  be 
suffered  reluctantly  to  ooze  out. 

1  Roman  vernacular  for  a  child  of  either  sex. 


Preface.  ix 

But  you  cannot  make  application  for  such  wares  to 
the  first  person  you  meet.  The  class  in  which  such  lore  is 
stored  away  is  not  indeed  so  exclusive  that  introductions 
to  it  are  a  very  difficult  matter,  but  introduction  of 
some  sort  you  must  have  ;  some  claim  for  taking  up  a  per- 
son's time,  where  time  is  money  ;  and  some  means  of  com- 
pensation you  must  devise,  the  more  difficult  to  invent 
where  direct  payment  would  be  an  offence.  Your  modern^ 
Eomans  are  very  independent ;  I  cannot  say  whether  the 
quality  is  more  an  inheritance  from  their  ancient  fore- 
fathers, or  adopted  from  the  continental  spread  of  French 
revolutionary  ideas  of  '93.  True,  they  are  singularly 
urbane  and  deferential,  but  only  so  long  as  you  are  urbane 
and  deferential  towards  them.  If  you  omit  any  of  their 
peculiar  forms  of  politeness,  they  are  suspicious  of  you, 
and  scarcely  know  how  to  make  allowance  for  the  well- 
meaning  inexperience  of  a  foreigner.  If  you  want  to 
learn  anything  from  them  you  must  submit  to  become 
one  of  them.  You  must  converse  first  on  the  subject 
uppermost  in  their  minds,  from  the  price  of  bread  and 
meat  to  the  latest  change  in  the  political  atmosphere; 
only  when  all  is  exhausted  may  you  venture  to  come 
round  to  the  matter  of  which  you  are  in  search.  Many, 
too,  in  whose  memories  such  stories  have  lain  dormant 
since  childhood,  for  more  than  half  a  century,  have  not 
the  power  of  recalling  them  in  due  form  or  order  for 
narration  on  abrupt  application,  but  will  yet  bring  them 
out  unconsciously  if  patiently  led  up  to  an  appropriate 
starting  point. 

Nor  is  it  every  application,  made  with  all  precautions, 
that  will  be  successful.  Often  you  must  submit  to  be  put 
off  with  the  tantalising  experience  that  a  person  knew 


x  Preface. 

plenty  of  stories,  but  was  quite  incapable  of  putting 
them  into  shape.  This  happened  once  with  an  intelligent 
old  lady  from  Siena,  whom,  after  allowing  her  to  indulge 
her  irony  at  my  expense  concerning  my  childishness  in 
seeking  such  things,  I  brought  to  confess  that  she  had 
heard  in  her  youth  a  strange  story  of  a  cat  which  wore 
stivali  di  cacciatore  (hunter's  boots),  but  she  could  not 
succeed  in  recalling  a  single  incident  of  it ;  and  I  was 
obliged  to  content  myself  with  the  information  (no  small 
encouragement  in  the  early  days  of  my  work,  however  1) 
that  '  Puss  in  Boots '  had  actually  travelled  to  Tuscany. 

At  another  time  one  would  have  to  spend  hours  in  lis- 
tening to  detached  incidents  altogether  lacking  a  thread  to 
connect  them,  or  stories  of  which  the  point  had  been  so  com- 
pletely lost  that  they  could  only  have  been  made  available 
by  means  of  a  reconstruction  too  integral  to  be  honestly 
attempted.  As,  e.g.,  '  Oh  yes !  I  know  a  story  of  an  en- 
chantress who  had  a  gown  which  made  her  invisible,  and 
a  pair  of  boots  which  would  carry  her  a  thousand  miles 
without  walking,  but  I  quite  forget  what  she  did  with 
them.'  Or  else  it  might  be, '  I  knew  a  story  of  a  king  whose 
wife  had  been  fatata  (subjected  to  magic  influence),  and 
maligned  by  her  mother-in-law  while  the  king  was  gone 
to  the  wars ;  but  that's  all  I  remember,  except  that  in  the 
end  the  queen  was  rehabilitated,  and  the  mother-in-law 
punished  ' — incidents  of  stories  recurring  in  every  collec- 
tion, but  tantalisingly  lacking  all  means  of  further  par- 
ticular identification  with  any.  Sometimes,  too,  it  would 
be  only  a  title  that  could  be  recalled,  and  nothing  more, 
as  in  the  case  of  a  certain  '  Uccello  Biverde,' *  which  I 

1  Whatever  Biverde  may  mean.  Possibly  bel-verde,  such,  at  least,  is 
the  title  of  Pellicciaio's  Madonna  with  the  '  beautiful  green '  dress,  at  the 


Preface.  xi 

have  been  several  times  assured  is  '  a  most  beautiful 
story,'  but  I  have  never  yet  succeeded  in  meeting  with  any 
one  who  could  supply  the  narrative.  I  have  further  felt 
called  sometimes  to  exercise  a  difficult  forbearance  in 
withholding  some  specimens  which  at  first  promised  to 
afford  singular  instances  of  interchanged  episodes,  but 
which  there  afterwards  appeared  reason  to  conclude  were 
merely  jumbled  in  the  bad  memory  of  the  narrator,  and 
had,  therefore,  no  individual  interest,  but  were  rather  cal- 
culated to  mislead.1 

One  of  my  worst  disappointments  was  the  case  of  a  very 
old  woman,  who,  I  am  assured,  knows  more  of  such  things 
than  anyone  in  the  world,  but  whom  nothing  can  induce 
to  repeat  them  now.  She  has  grown  so  toothless  and 
tremulous  and  inconsecutive,  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
understand  her  ;  but  I  think  her  arguments  are  not  diffi- 
cult to  appreciate  in  the  following  way, — that  having 
had  a  long  run  of  weary  bad  fortune,  she  had  rather  not 
dwell  on  stories  where  things  turned  out  as  one  could 
wish  to  have  them.  She  wants  to  go  to  heaven,  she  says, 
and  so  she  believes  in  God,  and  whatever  else  she  must  be- 
lieve ;  but  for  anything  more,  for  special  interpositions  of 
Providence,  and  anything  one  is  not  obliged  to  believe, 
she  had  rather  say  nothing  about  all  that.  '  But  don't 
tell  them  then  as  if  you  believed  them ;  tell  them  only 
as  a  pastime  ;  just  to  oblige  me.'  I  thought  I  had  moved 
her,  but  the  utmost  she  would  yield  was  to  promise  to 
think  about  it  before  I  came  again :  and  when  I  came 

Servite  Church,  Siena.  The  title  may  also  be  compared  with  '  The  Maid 
of  the  Bright-Green  Kirtle,'  in  Campbell's  '  West  Highland  Tales.' 

1  This,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  is  the  case  with  some  published  stories, 
as  e.g.  the  singular  medley  contained  in  the  third  of  the  '  Tales  of  the 
West  Highlands,'  vol.  i. 


xii  Preface. 

again  she  was  as  rigid  as  ever.  It  is  vexatious  to  think 
that  a  vast  store  is  going  to  the  grave  with  her  under 
one's  very  eyes  and  that  one  cannot  touch  it. 

It  is  further  to  be  remarked,  that  while  there  are  thus 
a  vast  number  of  persons  holding  the  store  of  traditional 
myths,  it  by  no  means  includes  the  generality  of  the  popu- 
lation ;  there  is  a  still  larger  class  among  whom  every 
trace  of  such  lore  is  lost.  So  destitute  are  they  of  all 
knowledge  of  the  kind,  that  it  would  be  interesting  to 
trace  back  the  antecedents  of  each,  and  so  discover,  if  it 
might  be,  the  origin  of  this  discrepancy;  for  not  only 
have  I  found  it  impossible  myself  to  stir  up  any  memory 
of  such  stories  in  half  the  people  I  have  applied  to, 
(though,  to  all  appearance,  similarly  circumstanced  with 
those  who  have  proved  the  most  communicative),  but  old 
'  gossips,'  sitting  by  while  the  stories  in  the  text  were 
being  poured  out,  have,  time  after  time,  displayed  a  won- 
derment which  proved  that  their  very  style  was  something 
quite  new  to  them. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  a  few  years' 
patience  has  put  me  in  possession  of  a  goodly  bulk  of 
popular  stories  not  yielding  in  interest,  I  think,  to  those 
of  any  other  country.  The  tales  included  in  the  present 
collection  are  but  a  portion  of  those  which  I  have  gathered 
within  the  limits  of  the  Eoman  State.  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  complete  at  some  future  day  the  remainder  that  I  have 
gathered  both  there  and  from  other  divisions  of  the 
former  Heptarchy  of  Italy.  The  localities  from  which 
these  have  been  chiefly  drawn  are  Palombara,  Capranica, 
Loreto,  Sinigaglia,  Viterbo,  Cori,  Palestrina,  and,  above 
all,  Rome  itself.  One  of  my  chief  contributors  had  passed 
her  whole  existence — infancy,  married  life,  and  widow- 


Preface.  xiii 

hood — within  the  limits  of  one  parish  in  the  heart  of 
Rome. 

The  collection  has  arranged  itself,  according  to  the 
spontaneous  titling  of  the  narrators,  into  four  categories, 
and  it  may  not  be  unimportant  to  note  that  Romans, 
always  precise  in  their  choice  of  language,  keep  rigidly  to 
these  designations.  I  have,  for  instance,  been  on  the 
very  verge  of  passing  over  a  whole  mine  of  '  Esempj,'  or 
4  Ciarpe '  by  only  asking  for  *  Favole '  (and  vice  versa). 
Remembering  afterwards  to  say,  '  I  daresay  you  can,  at 
all  events,  recall  some  "  Esempj,"  or  "Ciarpe,"'  I  have 
received  for  answer,  'To  be  sure;  why  didn't  you  say 
sooner  that  such  would  suit  you  ? ' 

The  said  four  categories  are, — 

1.  ESEMPJ,  or  those  stories  under  which  some  religious 
or  moral  lessons  might  be  conveyed,  answering  to  what 
we  call  Legends.     Though  the  word  Leggenda  exists  in 
the  dictionary,  and  is  not  altogether  unused,  I  have  never 
once  met  it  among  the  people. 

2.  Grhost  stories  and  local  and  family  traditions.    The 
latter  are  much  more  carefully  preserved  than  among  our 
own  people,1  and  the  Roman  poor  will  tell  the  tale  (more 
or  less  accurately)  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  their  great 
families,  with  a  gusto  which  shows  that  they  look  upon 
them  as  something  specially  belonging  to  themselves  ;  but 
the  former  do  not  appear  to  have  any  recognised  title, 
and  the  contempt  in  which  they  are  held  makes  it  very 
difficult  to  get  hold  of  them,  so  that  it  is  not  very  easy  to 
avoid  giving  offence  in  approaching  the  subject.     Only 
by  a  prolonged  and  round-about  conversation  one  may 

1  Except  perhaps  among  the  Scotch  Highlanders.      See   Campbell's 
'  Tales,'  Preface  to  vol.  i. 


xiv  Preface. 

sometimes  elicit  excellent  specimens  brought  in  as  matters 
of  curious  personal  experience  by  the  very  persons  who, 
on  direct  questioning,  had  repudiated  all  knowledge  of 
anything  of  the  sort. 

3.  FAVOLE.     The   word   universally   appropriated   in 
Eoman  dialect  for  '  Fairy  Tales,'  a  not  unclassical  applica- 
tion of  the  term,  I  think,  and  continued  in  the  '  Fabliaux ' 
of  the  mediaeval  period.   But  when  asking  for  them  I  have 
never  had  any  given  me  belonging  to  the  class  which  we 
call « fables '  in  English. 

4.  CIAKPE,  expounded  by  Bazzarelli  as  parole  vane, 
dance ;  dance  being  said,  on  the  authority  of  Petrarch, 
to  stand  for  parole  vane,  lontane  dal  vero,  chiacchiera ; 
chiacchiera  being  the  equivalent  for  gossip.     Versions  of 
some  stories  in  this  category,  notably  No.  6,  «  L'Uccelletto  ' 
(The  Little  Bird),  and  21,  '  The  Value  of  Salt,'  we  all 
heard  in  our   English  nurseries,  while  those  under  the 
heading  of « La  Sposa  Cece '  (The  Simple  Wife)  belong  to 
the  same  class  as  ours  of  the  man  who  being  told  to  give 
his  wife  her  medicine  in  a  convenient  vehicle,  wheeled  her 
about  in  a  hand-barrow,  while  she  swallowed  it ;  or  that  of 
the  idiotic  couple  who  wasted  their  three  precious  chances 
in  wishing  three  yards  of  black  pudding  on  each  other's 
noses,  and  then  wishing  it  off  again  ;  but  I  do  not  know 
that  we  have  any  special  technical  designation  for  such. 
All  the  headings  of  which  I  have  given  the  Italian  are 
those  used  by  the  narrators  themselves. 

It  is  impossible,  in  making  acquaintance  with  these 
stories  in  their  own  language,  not  to  regret  having  to  put 
them  into  another  tongue.  Much  of  what  is  peculiar  in 
them,  and  distinguishes  them  from  their  counterparts  in 
other  lands,  is,  of  course,  wrapped  up  in  the  form  of  ex- 


Preface.  xv 

pression  in  which  they  are  clothed.  Divested  of  this, 
they  run  the  risk  of  losing  the  national  character  they  have 
acquired  during  their  residence  on  Italian  soil.  I  had 
purposed,  therefore,  originally,  to  print  an  Italian  version, 
side  by  side  with  the  English  rendering,  but  was  obliged 
to  renounce  the  arrangement,  as  it  would  have  proved  too 
voluminous.  I  have  only  been  able  to  preserve  some  few 
of  the  vernacular  idiosyncrasies  in  the  notes,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  take  an  interest  in  the  people's  cha- 
racteristic utterances. 

I  think  I  may  safely  say  that  the  whole  of  the  stories 
are  traditional.  There  were  only  two  of  my  contributors 
who  could  have  read  them  had  they  even  existed  in  print. 
The  best-instructed  of  them  was  the  one  who  gave  me 
1  Prete  Olivo '  and  *  Perch&  litigano  i  cani  ed  i  gatti ; ' 
both  of  which  I  am  clear,  from  '  asides '  which  accompanied 
them  concerning  her  father's  manner  of  telling,  she  had 
heard  from  his  lips,  even  as  she  said. 

With  the  exception  of  some  of  the  Legends,  Local  Tra- 
ditions, and  Ciarpe,  there  are  few,  either  printed  in  this 
collection  or  among  those  I  still  hold  in  MS.,  the  leading 
episodes  of  which  (if  not  the  entire  story)  are  not  to  be 
found  in  the  collections  of  other  countries ;  but  certain 
categories  common  in  other  countries  are  wanting  in  the 
Eoman.  One  could  not  in  making  the  collection  but 
be  struck  with  the  almost  complete  absence  of  stories  of 
heroism  and  chivalry.  There  are  some,  indeed,  in  which 
courageous  deeds  occur ;  but  there  is  none  of  the  high- 
souled  mettle  which  comes  out  so  strong  in  Hungarian, 
Gaelic,  and  Spanish  tradition,  in  many  of  the  Teutonic  and 
Breton,  and  some  Norse  and  Eussian  tales.  Several,  we 
shall  find,  are  identical  stories,  with  the  grand  and  fierce 


xvi  Preface. 

element  left  out.     I  have  never  come  across  a  single  story 
of  knightly  prowess  in  any  shape.  I  have  in  MS.  one  or  two 
dragon  stories,  but  no  knights  figure  even  in  these.     At 
the  same  time,  tales  of  horror  seem  equally  to  have  failed 
to  fascinate  the  popular  imagination,  and  we  can  trace 
again  the  toning  down  process  in  many  instances.     J  have 
in  MS.  several  versions  of  the  rather  ghastly  story  of  the 
boy  who  went  out  to  discover  Fear,  but  the  Koman  mind 
does  not  often  indulge  in  such  scenes  as  it  presents.     Simi- 
larly, horrid  monsters  are  rare.     '  Oreo '  himself  is  not 
painted  so  terrible  as  in  other    countries.      Giants  and 
dwarfs,  again,  being  somewhat  monstrous  creations,  are  not 
frequent.     The  stories  about  the  Satiri  were  only  told  me 
spontaneously  by  one  narrator ;  one  other  owned  to  having 
heard  of  such  beings  on  being  questioned,  but  there  is  no 
general  popular  conception  corresponding  to  the  German 
ideas  of  wild  men.     I  have  never  met  anyone  who  believed 
in  the  present  existence  of  any  supernatural  being  of  this 
class,1  and  rarely  with  any  who  imagined  such  had  ever 
existed.     «  The  stories  always  say,  "  there  was  a  fairy  who 
did  so  and  so : "  but  were  there  ever  fairies  ?     Perhaps 
there   were,   perhaps  there   weren't,'  soliloquised  an  old 
woman  one  day  at  the  end  of  a  tale ;  that  was  the  strongest 
expression  of  opinion  in  their  favour  that  came  in  my  way. 
Another  said  once,  « If  there  ever  were  such  beings  there 
would  be  now ;  but  there  certainly  are  not  any  now,  so  I 
don't  believe  there  ever  were  any.' 2 

Again,  religious  legends,  with  admixture  of  pagan  super- 

»  See  remarks  in  Preface  to  Campbell's  '  Tales  of  the  West  Highlands,' 
vol.  i.  p.  c.  Dr.  Dasent's  '  Popular  Tales  from  the  Norse,'  pp.  xliv,  xlv,  &c. 

*  It  has  been  observed  to  me  that  these  words  furnish  a  remarkable, 
because  unconscious,  parallel  to  the  well-known  dictum  of  Minucius  Felix, 
on  the  mythical  exploits  of  the  old  heathen  gods  and  heroes,  '  Quae  si  facta 
essent  fierent ;  quia  fieri  non  possunt  ideo  nee  facta  sunt.' 


Preface.  xvii 

stations,  seem  rare.  English  readers  may  say  that  there 
is  superstition  in  some  of  the  legends  in  the  text ;  but  they 
only  exaggerate  the  literamess  with  which  they  deal  with 
Gospel  promises ;  there  is  little  at  variance  with  it.  The 
false- tale  of  the  pilgrim  husband,  pp.  355-6,  is  the  most 
devious  from  Christian  doctrine  that  I  have  come  across 
in  Eome.  I  cannot  fancy  a  Koman,  however  illiterate, 
gravely  telling  such  stories  as  some  of  those  which  Mr. 
Ralstone  gives  us  from  Russia.  The  story  of  '  Pret'  Olivo ' 
is  doubtless  derivatively  the  same  as  Dr.  Dasent's  '  Master 
Smith ' ;  but  the  Roman  version  presents  vastly  less  of  the 
pagan  element. 

In  winding  up  his  general  remarks  on  the  migrations 
of  myths,  Prof,  de  Grubernatis  gives  as  his  opinion  that 
'  the  elementary  myth  was  the  spontaneous  production  of 
imagination  and  not  of  reflection ; '  .  .  .  that  '  morals 
have  often  been  made  an  appendix  to  fables,  but  never 
entered  into  the  primitive  fable ;'  that '  art  and  religion  have 
made  use  of  the  already  existing  myths  (themselves  devoid 
of  moral  conscience)  as  allegories  for  their  own  esthetic 
and  moral  ends.'  And  it  appears  to  me  that  the  Romans, 
in  adapting  such  elementary  myths  to  legendary  use,  have 
christianised  them  more  than  some  other  peoples. 

Pacts  with  the  Devil,  in  which  the  Germans  revel, 
are  rare ;  the  story  of  '  Pietro  Bailliardo '  is  one  of  the 
very  few.  It  would  seem  that  witchcraft  never  at  any 
time  obtained  any  great  hold  upon  the  people  of  Rome, 
nor  were  witches  ever  treated  with  the  same  severity 
which  befell  them  in  other  parts  of  Europe.  It  is  true 
that  some  stories  about  witch-stepmothers  wind  up  with 
'  e  la  brucciorno  in  mezzo  alia  Piazza,' !  but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  is  rather  a  '  tag '  received  from  other  coun- 
1  ('  And  they  burnt  her  to  death  in  the  public  square.') 


xviii  Preface. 

tries,  than  an  actual  local  tradition;  and  certainly  by 
cross-questioning  I  failed  to  awaken  in  the  memory  of 
the  '  oldest  inhabitants '  with  whom  I  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  conversing  any  tradition  of  anything  of  the  sort 
having  actually  taken  place. 

'  What  do  you  know  about  burning  witches  in  mezzo 
alia  Piazza  ?  I  thought  such  things  were  never  done  in 
Kome?'  I  observed  one  day  to  one  who  ended  a  story 
thus.  '  Who  said  the  story  took  place  in  Eome  ?  '  was  the 
ready  reply.  I  received  the  same  reply  to  the  same  obser- 
vation from  another,  with  the  addition  of «  There  was  some- 
thing about  a  king  and  a  queen  in  the  story  and  in  other 
stories  I  have  told  you,  and  we  never  had  a  king  or  a  queen 
of  Eome — the  one  may  belong  to  the  same  country  as  the 
other.  Who  knows  what  sort  of  a  country  such  stories 
come  from ! '  A  third  answered,  « No ;  I  don't  believe 
witches  were  ever  burnt  by  law  in  Eome ;  I  have  always 
heard  say  that  our  laws  were  less  fierce  than  those  of  some 
other  countries ;  but  I  can  quite  fancy  that  if  the  people 
found  a  witch  doing  such  things  as  I  have  told  you, 
they  would  bum  her  all  by  themselves,  law  or  no  law.' 

Of  course  I  have  no  pretension  that  my  researches  have 
been  exhaustive,  nor  have  I  been,  properly  speaking,  search- 
ing for  superstitions,  but  in  a  good  deal  of  intercourse 
with  the  uneducated,  I  have  certainly  come  across  less  of 
superstitious  beliefs  in  Eome  than  collectors  of  Folklore 
seem  to  have  met  in  other  countries.  The  saying  exists, 

Giorno  di  Venere, 

Giorno  di  Marte, 

Non  si  sposa, 

E  non  si  parte.1 

1  'Don't  marry  or  set  out  on  a  journey  on  a  Friday  or  Tuesday ; '  and 
under  the  two  heads  brought  under  the  rime,  any  other  undertaking  is 
equally  proscribed :  some  servants,  for  instance,  dislike  going  to  a  new 
situation  on  those  days. 


Preface.  xix 

But  I  have  seldom  heard  the  lines  quoted  without  the 
addition  of,  «  But  /  don't  believe  in  such  things ; '  and  a 
reference  to  the  column  of  marriage  announcements  in 
the '  Times  '  will  show  that  the  prejudice  against  marrying 
in  the  month  of  May  is,  to  say  the  least,  quite  as  strong 
among  our  own  most  highly-educated  classes. 

It  is  not  altogether  uncommon  at  the  Parochial  Mass, 
to  hear  along  with  banns  of  marriage  and  other  announce- 
ments, a  warning  pronounced  against  such  and  such  a 
person  whom  private  counsel  has  failed  to  deter  from 
'  dabbling  in  black  arts  ; '  but  from  the  observations  which 
I  have  had  the  opportunity  of  making  such  persons  find 
their  dupes  chiefly  among  the  dissolute  and  non-believing. 
I  know  a  very  consistently  religious  woman,  and  also 
singularly  intelligent,  who  appeared  to  have  a  salutary 
contempt  for  certain  practices  in  which  her  husband,  a 
worthless  fellow,  who  had  long  ago  abandoned  her  and  his 
religion  together,  indulged.  '  He  actually  believes,'  she 
told  me  one  day,  '  that  if  you  go  out  and  stand  on  a  cross 
road — not  merely  where  two  roads  happen  to  cross  each 
other,  but  where  they  actually  make  a  perfect  cross — and 
if  at  the  stroke  of  mezzogicnmo  in  punto,  you  call  the 
Devil  he  is  bound  to  come  to  you.' 

'  He  always  kept  a  bag  of  particular  herbs,'  I  heard 
from  her  another  time,  '  hung  up  over  the  door,  all  shred 
into  the  finest  bits.  As  he  was  very  angry  if  I  touched 
them,  I  one  day  said,  "  Why  do  you  want  that  bundle  of 
herbs  kept  just  there  ?  "  and  then  he  told  me  that  it  was 
because  no  witch  could  pass  under  them  without  first 
having  to  count  all  the  minute  bits,  and  that  though  it  was 
true  she  might  do  so  by  her  arts  without  taking  them 
down  and  handling  them,  it  was  yet  so  difficult  when 
a2 


xx  Preface. 

they  were  shred  into  such  an  infinite  number  that  it  was 
the  best  preservative  possible  against  evil  influences.' 

Another  class  of  infrequent  occurrence  in  the  Roman 
stories  is  that  in  which  animals  are  prominent  actors,  other 
than  those  in  which  they  are  transformed  men.  The 
tatos,  the  enchanted  horse  which  excites  so  great  enthu- 
siasm in  the  Hungarian,  and  whose  counterpart  does  great 
wonders  also  in  the  Gaelic  tales,  seems  to  be  absolutely 
unknown,1  as  I  think  is  also  the  class  not  uncommon  in 
the  Gaelic  (e.g.  *  Tales  of  the  West  Highlands,'  i.  275  et 
seq.\  also  in  the  Russian  Folklore,  p.  338,  of  birds  made 
to  pronounce  articulate  words  analogous  in  sound  to  their 
own  cries.2  Such  traditions  would  naturally  find  a  hold 
rather  among  countrypeople  than  townspeople. 

Fairies  and  witches  are  frequent  enough,  but  the 
limits  between  the  respective  domains  assigned  to  them 
are  not  so  marked  as  with  us.  Roman  fairies,  it  will  be 
seen,  are  by  no  means  necessarily '  fairy-like.'  At  the  same 
time  fairies,  such  as  those  described  by  Mr.  Campbell, 
1  West  Highland  Tales,'  p.  ci.,  are  altogether  unknown. 

1  In  the  story  of  '  Filagranata,'  infra,  pp.  fi  et  seq.,  he  is  divested  in  a 
marked  manner  of  the  individuality  and  importance  attaching  to  his  part 
in  the  corresponding  versions  of  other  countries. 

2  The  Rev.  Alfred  White  told  me,  however,  an  English  story  of  the  sort, 
picked  up  from  a  countryman  in  Berkshire.    The  Magpie  was  one  day  build- 
ing her  nest  so  neatly,  and  whispering  to  herself  after  her  wont  as  she  laid 
each  straw  in  its  place, '  This  upon  that,  this  upon  that,'  when  the  Woodpigeon 
came  by.     Now  the  Woodpigeon  was  young  and  flighty,  and  had  never 
learnt  how  to  build  a  nest ;  but  when  she  saw  how  beautifully  neat  that  of 
the  Magpie  looked,  she  thought  she  would  like  to  learn  the  art.     The  busy 
Magpie  willingly  accepted  the  office  of  teaching  her,  and  began  a  new  one 
on  purpose.     Long  before  she  was  half  through,  however,  the  flighty  Wood- 
pigeon  sang  out,  '  That'll  doooo  ! '     The  Magpie  was  offended  at  the  inter- 
ruption, and  flew  away  in  dudgeon,  and  that's  why  the  Woodpigeon  always 
builds  such  ramshackle  nests.     Told  well ;  the  '  This  upon  that! '  and  the 
1  That'll  do  ! '  takes  just  the  sound  of  the  cry  of  each  of  the  birds  named. 


CONTENTS. 


FAVOLE. 

PAGE 
FlLAGRAXATA  .  3 

THE  THREE  LOVE-ORANGES  (I  THE  MERANQOLI  ni  AMOBE)     .        .       15 

PALOMBELLETTA 22 

LA  CENOBIENTOLA 26 

VACCARELLA .        .        .          31 

GIUSEPPE  L'EuREo   .         .         .         .         ...         .         .         .         .39 

THE  KING  WHO  OOES  OUT  TO  DINNER.        .......  40 

THB  POT  OF  MARJORAM  (!L  VASO  DI  PEBSA)  .        .        .        .        .      46 

THE  POT  OF  RUE  (It  VASO  DI  ROTA)         ..       .        .         »        .          57 

KING  OTHO      .         .        ,        .....        ,        ...        .63 

MARIA  WOOD  (MARIA  DI  LKGNO)          .        .        .        ...        .          66 

„  „  „          SECOND  VERSION  .        .        .        .84 

,,  „  ,,          THIRD  VERSION         ...  90 

LA  CANDELIEHA        .        ...        .        .        .x      >  -      .         •        •       91 

THE  Two  HUNCHBACKED  BROTHERS      .         .         .         1     '   .         .•          96 

THE  DARK  KING  (It  RE  MORO) 99 

MONSU  MOSTRO 109 

THE  ENCHANTED  ROSE  TREE 115 

SCIOCCOLONE 119 

TWELVE  FEET  OF  NOSE  (Dooici  PALMI  DI  NASO)  .  .  .  .129 
A  YARD  OF  NOSE  (MEZZA  CANNA  DI  NASO)  .  .  .  .  136 
THE  CHICORY-SELLER  AND  THE  ENCHANTED  PRINCESS  .  .  .141 

THE  TRANSFORMATION-DONKEY 146 

SIGNOR  LATTANZIO 155 

/fiW  CAJUS^C  WAS  MARRIED 158 


xxii  Contents. 


LEGENDARY   TALES  AND  ESEMPJ. 

PAGE 

WHEN  JESUS  CHRIST  WANDERED  ON  EARTH  (EIGHT  TAXES)         .  173 

PIETRO  BAILLARDO  (THREE  TALES) 189 

S.  GIOVANNI  BOCCA  D'ORO  (THREE  TALES) 196 

DON  GIOVANNI          . 202 

THE  PENANCE  OF  SAN  GIULIANO 203 

THE  PILGRIMS 208 

SANTA  VERDANA    ..'.... 213 

SAN  SIDORO '     .  214 

THE  FISHPOND  OF  ST.  FRANCIS  (LA  PESCHERIA  DI  SAN  FRANCESCO)  „ 

ST.  ANTHONY  (FIVE  TALES) .215 

ST.  MARGARET  OF  COKTONA 222 

ST.  THEODORA 225 

NUN  BEATRICE '       .         .  228 

PADRE  FILIPPO  (ELEVEN  TALES) 231 

THE  PARDON  OF  ASISI 244 

PADRE  VINCENZO  (THREE  TALES) .        .246 

PADRE  FOXTANAROSA        ,,'"......  248 

S.  GIUSEPPE  LABRE          ,,                  251 

THE  TWELVE  WORDS  OF  TRUTH  .  254 


GHOST  AND   TREASURE  STORIES  AND  FAMILY 
AND  LOCAL    TRADITIONS. 

THE  DEAD  MAN  IN  THE  OAK-TREE 259 

THE  DEAD  MAN'S  LETTER     .         .        .        ..-'-.        .         .         .         261 

THE  WHITE  SOUL     . .        V        .264 

•*  THE  WHITE  SERPENT    .         ,         ." 267 

THE  PROCESSION  OF  VELLETRI          .  .         .         .         .         .271 


Contents.  xxiii 

PAGE 

SMALLER  GHOST  AND   TREASURE   STORIES  AND  FAMILY   AND  LOCAL 

TRADITIONS  (THIRTEEN  TALES) 273 

SCIARRA  COLONNA ,.,        .        .  284 

DONNA  OLLMPIA ,  287 

THE  MUNIFICENCE  OF  PRINCE  BORGHESE 291 

'  POPE  JOAN'  (LA  PAPESSA)          .        .        .      r.        .        .        .  293 

GIACINTA  MARESCOTTI •  294 

PASQUINO  (Two  TALES) 296 

CECTNGULO 300 

<JTH*  WOOING  OF  CASSANDEO 301 

I  COCORNI 305 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  ENGLISHWOMAN   ....... 

THE  ENGLISHMAN 308 

QBE  MARRIAGE  OF  SIGNOR  CAJUSSB 309 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  COUNT  LATTANZIO      .        .        .  •     .        .        .311 

BELLACUCCIA V        .        .        ,        .  313 

THE  SATTH .        ...        .315 

THE  SATYRS «,  317 

AMADEA    .        .        .         , ,  .     .  320 

THE  KING  OF  PORTUGAL       .  322 


CIABPE. 

THE  Two  FRIARS          ,        ....        .        .        .        .  327 

THE  PREFACE  OF  A  FRANCISCAN 333 

THE  LENTEN  PREACHER 334 

Ass  OR  Piu 336 

THE  SEVEN  CLODHOPPERS 339 

THE  LITTLE  BIRD     ..........  341 

^)HE  DEVIL  WHO  TOOK  TO  HIMSELF  A  WIFE         ....  343 

THE  ROOT 346 


xxiv  Contents. 

PA(iK 

THE  QUKEN  AND  THE  TRIPE-SELLER 348 

THE  BAD-TEMPERED  QUEEN  (LA  REOINA  CATTIVA)  ....  354 

&HE  SIMPLE  WIFE  (LA  SPOSA  CECE)  (Two  VERSIONS)          .         .  357 

THE  FOOLISH  WOMAN  (LA  DONNA  MATTARELLA)  (Two  VERSIONS)  367 

THE  BOOBY  (!L  TONTO)        .        .        ...        .        .         .  371 

THE  GLUTTONOUS  GIRL  (LA  RAGAZZA  GOLOSA)         ....  375 

THE  GREEDY  DAUGHTER  (LA  FIGLIA  GHIOTTA)     .        .        .        .  380 

THE  OLD  MISER 382 

THE  MISERLY  OLD  WOMAN 385 

THE  BEGGAR  AND  THE  CHICK-PEA  (!L  POVERELLO  DEL  CECE)         .  388 

DOCTOR  GRILLO     .                 392 

NINA 396 

THE  GOOD  GRACE  OF  THE  HUNCHBACK  (LA  BUONA  GHAZIA  DEL 

GOBBO) 399 

THE  VALUE  OF  SALT 403 

THE  PRINCESS  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN 406 

3^HE  HAPPY  COUPLE  (I  SPOSI  FELICI) 411 

UNA  CAMERA  DI  LOCANDA 416 

THE  COUNTESS'S  CAT 419 

WHY  CATS  AND  DOGS  ALWAYS  QUARREL 421 

THE  CATS  WHO  MADE  THEIU  MASTEK  RICH  422 


APPENDICES. 


n 

B.         . 

C.  p.  195   . 

.    .N   .    431 

„ 

D.  p.  196    . 

••    .    .    .    •   „ 

„ 

E.  p.  208   .    . 

•  .'   \    .    .   .    432 

)> 

F.  p.  392    . 

.    .    .    .    .433 

435 


FAYOLE, 


FILAGRANATA. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  l  there  was  a  poor  woman  who  had  a 
great  fancy  for  eating  parsley.  To  her  it  was  the  greatest 
luxury,  and  as  she  had  no  garden  of  her  own,  and  no 
money  to  spend  on  anything  not  an  absolute  necessity 
of  life,  she  had  to  go  about  poaching  in  other  people's 
gardens  to  satisfy  her  fancy. 

Near  her  cottage  was  the  garden  of  a  great  palace,  and 
in  this  garden  grew  plenty  of  fine  parsley  ;  but  the  garden 
was  surrounded  by  a  wall,  and  to  get  at  it  she  had  to 
carry  a  ladder  with  her  to  get  up  by,  and,  as  soon  as  she 
had  reached  the  top  of  the  wall,  to  let  it  down  on  the 
other  side  to  get  down  to  the  parsley-bed.  There  was 
such  a  quantity  of  parsley  growing  here  that  she  thought 
it  would  never  be  missed,  and  this  made  her  bold,  so  that 
she  went  over  every  day  and  took  as  much  as  ever  she 
liked. 

But  the  garden  belonged  to  a  witch,2  who  lived  in  the 
palace,  and,  though  she  did  not  often  walk  in  this  part  of 
the  garden,  she  knew  by  her  supernatural  powers  that 
some  one  was  eating  her  parsley ;  so  she  came  near  the 
place  one  day,  and  lay  in  wait  till  the  poor  woman  came. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as  she  came,  and  began  eating  the 
parsley,  the  witch  at  once  pounced  down,  and  asked  her,  in 
her  gruff  voice,  what  she  was  doing  there.  Though  dread- 
fully frightened,  the  poor  woman  thought  it  best  to  own 
the  whole  truth ;  so  she  confessed  that  she  came  down  by 
the  ladder,  adding  that  she  had  not  taken  anything  ex- 
cept the  parsley,  and  begged  forgiveness. 

'  I  know  nothing  about  forgiveness,'  replied  the  witch. 

B   2 


6  Favole. 

and  the  thought  quickly  ran  through  Filagranata's  head — 
'  I  have  been  taught  to  loose  my  hair  whenever  those  words 
are  said ;  why  should  not  I  loose  it  to  draw  up  such  a 
pleasant-looking  cavalier,  as  well  as  for  the  ugly  old  hag  ?' 
and,  without  waiting  for  a  second  thought,  she  untied  the 
ribbon  that  bound  her  tresses  and  let  them  fall  upon  the 
prince.  The  prince  was  equally  quick  in  taking  advantage 
of  the  occasion,  and,  pressing  his  knees  firmly  into  his 
horse's  flanks,  so  that  it  might  not  remain  below  to  be- 
tray him,  drew  himself  up,  together  with  his  steed,  just 
as  he  had  seen  the  witch  do. 

Filagranata,  half  frightened  at  what  she  had  done  the 
moment  the  deed  was  accomplished,  had  not  a  word  to 
say,  but  blushed  and  hung  her  head.  The  prince,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  so  many  words  to  pour  out,  expressive  of 
his  admiration  for  her,  his  indignation  at  her  captivity, 
and  his  desire  to  be  allowed  to  be  her  deliverer,  that  the 
moments  flew  quickly  by,  and  it  was  only  when  Filagra- 
nata found  herself  drawn  to  the  window  by  the  power  of 
the  witch's  magic  words  that  they  remembered  the  dan- 
gerous situation  in  which  they  stood. 

Another  might  have  increased  the  peril  by  cries  of 
despair,  or  lost  precious  time  in  useless  lamentations  ;  but 
Filagranata  showed  a  presence  of  mind  worthy  of  a  prince's 
wife  by  catching  up  a  wand  of  the  witch,  with  which  she 
had  seen  her  do  wonderful  things.  With  this  she  gave 
the  prince  a  little  tap,  which  immediately  changed  him 
into  a  pomegranate,  and  then  another  to  the  horse,  which 
transformed  him  into  an  orange.4  These  she  set  by  on 
the  shelf,  and  then  proceeded  to  draw  up  the  witch  after 
the  usual  manner. 

The  old  hag  was  not  slow  in  perceiving  there  was  some- 
thing unusual  in  Filagranata's  room. 

'  What  a  stink3  of  Christians  !  What  a  stink  of  Chris- 
tians ! '  she  kept  exclaiming,  as  she  poked  her  nose  into 
every  hole  and  corner.  Yet  she  failed  to  find  anything  to 


Filagranata.  7 

reprehend ;  for  as  for  the  beautiful  ripe  pomegranate  and 
the  golden  orange  on  the  shelf,  the  Devil  himself  could 
not  have  thought  there  was  anything  wrong  with  them. 
Thus  baffled,  she  was  obliged  to  finish  her  inspection  of 
the  state  of  the  pigeons,  and  end  her  visit  in  the  usual  way. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  Filagranata  knew  she  was  free 
till  the  next  day,  and  so  once  more,  with  a  tap  of  the 
wand,  restored  the  horse  and  his  rider  to  their  natural 
shapes. 

'  And  this  is  how  your  life  passes  every  day !  Is  it 
possible  ? '  exclaimed  the  prince  ;  '  no,  I  cannot  leave  you 
here.  You  may  be  sure  my  good  horse  will  be  proud  to 
bear  your  little  weight ;  you  have  only  to  mount  behind 
me,  and  I  will  take  you  home  to  my  kingdom,  and  you 
shall  live  in  the  palace  with  my  mother,  and  be  my  queen.' 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  but  that  Filagranata  very 
much  preferred  the  idea  of  going  with  the  handsome  young 
prince  who  had  shown  so  devoted  an  appreciation  of  her, 
and  being  his  queen,  to  remaining  shut  up  in  the  doorless 
tower  and  being  the  witch's  menial ;  so  she  offered  no 
opposition,  and  the  prince  put  her  on  to  his  good  horse 
behind  him,  and  away  they  rode. 

On,,  on,  on,6  they  rode  for  a  long,  long  way,  until  they 
came  at  last  to  a  wood  ;  but  for  all  the  good  horse's  speed, 
the  witch,  who  was  not  long  in  perceiving  their  escape 
and  setting  out  in  pursuit,  was  well  nigh  overtaking  them. 
Just  then  they  saw  a  little  old  woman7  standing  by  the 
way,  making  signs  and  calling  to  them  to  arrest  their 
course.  How  great  soever  was  their  anxiety  to  get  on, 
so  urgent  was  her  appeal  to  them  to  stop  and  listen  to 
her  that  they  yielded  to  her  entreaties.  Nor  were  they 
losers  by  their  kindness,  for  the  little  old  woman  was 
a  fairy,8  and  she  had  stopped  them,  not  on  her  own 
account,  but  to  give  them  the  means  of  escaping  from  the 
witch. 

To  the  prince  she  said :  '  Take  these  three  gifts,  and 


8  Favole. 

when  the  witch  comes  very  near  throw  down  first  the 
mason's  trowel ;  and  when  she  nearly  overtakes  you  again 
throw  down  the  comb ;  and  when  she  nearly  comes  upon 
you  again  after  that,  throw  down  this  jar9  of  oil.  After 
that  she  won't  trouble  you  any  more.'  And  to  Filagranata 
she  whispered  some  words,  and  then  let  them  go.  But 
the  witch  was  now  close  behind,  and  the  prince  made 
haste  to  throw  down  the  mason's  trowel.  Instantly  there 
rose  up  a  high  stone  wall  between  them,  which  it  took 
the  witch  some  time  to  climb  over.  Nevertheless,  by  her 
supernatural  powers  she  was  not  long  in  making  up  for 
the  lost  time,  and  had  soon  overtaken  the  best  speed  of 
the  good  horse.  Then  the  prince  threw  down  the  comb, 
and  immediately  there  rose  up  between  them  a  strong 
hedge  of  thorns,  which  it  took  the  witch  some  time  to 
make  her  way  through,  and  that  only  with  her  body 
bleeding  all  over  from  the  thorns.  Nevertheless,  by  her 
supernatural  powers  she  was  not  long  in  making  up  for 
the  lost  time,  and  had  soon  overtaken  the  best  speed  of 
the  good  horse.  Then  the  prince  threw  down  the  jar  of 
oil,  and  the  oil  spread  and  spread  till  it  had  overflowed 10 
the  whole  country  side  ;  and  as  wherever  you  step  in  a 
pool  of  oil  the  foot  only  slides  back,  the  witch  could  never 
get  out  of  that,  so  the  prince  and  Filagranata  rode  on  in 
all  safety  towards  the  prince's  palace. 

4  And  now  tell  me  what  it  was  the  old  woman  in  the 
wood  whispered  to  you,'  said  the  prince,  as  soon  as  they 
saw  their  safety  sufficiently  secured  to  breathe  freely. 

'  It  was  this,'  answered  Filagranata ;  '  that  I  was  to 
tell  you  that  when  you  arrive  at  your  own  home  you  must 
kiss  no  one — no  one  at  all,  not  your  father,  or  mother,  or 
sisters,  or  anyone — till  after  our  marriage.  Because  if 
you  do  you  will  forget  all  about  your  love  for  me,  and  all 
you  have  told  me  you  think  of  me,  and  all  the  faithfulness 
you  have  promised  me,  and  we  shall  become  as  strangers 
again  to  each  other.' 


Filagranata.  9 

'  How  dreadful ! '  said  the  prince.  '  Oh,  you  may  be 
sure  I  will  kiss  no  one  if  that  is  to  be  the  consequence ; 
so  be  quite  easy.  It  will  be  rather  odd,  to  be  sure,  to 
return  from  such  a  long  journey  and  kiss  none  of  them  at 
home,  not  even  my  own  mother ;  but  I  suppose  if  I  tell 
them  how  it  is  they  won't  mind.  So  be  quite  easy  about 
that.' 

Thus  they  rode  on  in  love  and  confidence,  and  the 
good  horse  soon  brought  them  home. 

On  the  steps  of  the  palace  the  chancellor  of  the  king- 
dom came  out  to  meet  them,  and  saluted  Filagranata  as 
the  chosen  bride  the  prince  was  to  bring  home ;  he  in- 
formed him  that  the  king  his  father  had  died  during 
his  absence,  and  that  he  was  now  sovereign  of  the  realm. 
Then  he  led  him  in  to  the  queen-mother,  to  whom  he  told 
all  his  adventures,  and  explained  why  he  must  not  kiss 
her  till  after  his  marriage.  The  queen-mother  was  so 
pleased  with  the  beauty,  and  modesty,  and  gentleness  of 
Filagranata,  that  she  gave  up  her  son's  kiss  without 
repining,  and  before  they  retired  to  rest  that  night  it  was 
announced  to  the  people  that  the  prince  had  returned 
home  to  be  their  king,  and  the  day  was  proclaimed  when 
the  feast  for  his  marriage  was  to  take  place. 

Then  all  in  the  palace  went  to  their  sleepingch  ambers. 
But  the  prince,  as  it  had  been  his  wont  from  his  childhood 
upwards,  went  into  his  mother's  room  to  kiss  her  after 
she  was  asleep,  and  when  he  saw  her  placid  brow  on  the 
pillow,  with  the  soft  white  hair  parted  on  either  side  of  it, 
and  the  eyes  which  were  wont  to  gaze  on  him  with  so 
much  love,  resting  in  sleep,  he  could  not  forbear  from 
pressing  his  lips  on  her  forehead  and  giving  the  wonted 
kiss. 

Instantly  there  passed  from  his  mind  all  that  had 
taken  place  since  he  last  stood  there  to  take  leave  of 
the  queen-mother  before  he  started  on  his  journey. 


io  Favole. 

His  visit  to  the  -witch's  palace,  his  flight  from  it,  the  life- 
perils  by  the  way,  and,  what  is  more,  the  image  of  Filagra- 
nata  herself, — all  passed  from  his  mind  like  a  vision  of 
the"  night,  and  when  he  woke  up  and  they  told  him  he 
was  king,  it  was  as  if  he  heard  it  for  the  first  time,  and 
when  they  brought  Filagranata  to  him  it  was  as  though 
he  knew  her  not  nor  saw  her. 

'  But,'  he  said,  '  if  I  am  king  there  must  be  'a  queen 
to  share  my  throne ; '  and  as  a  reigning  sovereign  could 
not  go  over  the  world  to  seek  a  wife,  he  sent  and  fetched 
him  a  princess  meet  to  be  the  king's  wife,  and  appointed 
the  betrothal.  The  queen-mother,  who  loved  Filagranata, 
was  sad,  and  yet  nothing  that  she  could  say  could  bring 
back  to  his  mind  the  least  remembrance  of  all  he  had 
promised  her  and  felt  towards  her. 

But  Filagranata  knew  that  the  prince  had  kissed  his 
mother,  and  this  was  why  the  spell  was  on  him;  so  she 
said  to  her  mother-in-law  :  '  You  get  me  much  fine-sifted 
flour  u  and  a  large  bag  of  sweetmeats,  and  I  will  try  if 
I  cannot  yet  set  this  matter  straight.'  So  the  queen- 
mother  ordered  that  there  should  be  placed  in  her  room 
much  sifted  flour  and  a  large  bag  of  sweetmeats.  And 
Filagranata,  when  she  had  shut  close  the  door,  set  to 
work  and  made  paste  of  the  flour,  and  of  the  paste  she 
moulded  two  pigeons,  and  filled  them  inside  with  the 
comfits.  Then  at  the  banquet  of  the  betrothal  she  asked 
the  queen-mother  to  have  her  two  pigeons  placed  on  the 
table ;  and  she  did  so,  one  at  each  end.  But  as  soon  as 
all  the  company  were  seated,  before  any  one  was  helped, 
the  two  pigeons  which  Filagranata  had  made  began  to 
talk  to  each  other  across  the  whole  length  of  the  table : 
and  everybody  stood  still  with  wonder  to  listen  to  what 
the  pigeons  of  paste  said  to  each  other. 

'  Do  you  remember,'  said  the  first  pigeon,  ;  or  is  it 
possible  that  you  have  really  forgotten,  when  I  was  in  that 


Filagranata.  1 1 

doorless  tower  of  the  witch's  palace,  and  you  came  under 
the  window  and  imitated  her  voice,  saying, — 

Filagranata,  thou  maiden  fair, 

Loose  thy  tresses  of  golden  hair : 

I,  thy  old  grandmother,  am  here, 

till  I  drew  you  up  ? ' 

And  the  other  pigeon  answered, — 

'  Si,  signora,  I  remember  it  now.' 

And  as  the  young  king  heard  the  second  pigeon  say 
'  Si,  signora,  I  remember  it  now,'  he,  too,  remembered 
having  been  in  a  doorless  tower,  and  having  sung  such 
a  verse. 

'  Do  you  remember,'  continued  the  first  pigeon,  '  how 
happy  we  were  together  after  I  drew  you  up  into  that 
little  room  where  I  was  confined,  and  you  swore  if  I  would 
come  with  you  we  should  always  be  together  and  never  be 
separated  from  each  other  any  more  at  all  ? ' 

And  the  second  pigeon  replied, — 

4  Ah  yes  !  I  remember  it  now.' 

And  as  the  second  pigeon  said  '  Ah  yes !  I  remem- 
ber it  now,'  there  rose  up  in  the  young  king's  mind  the 
memory  of  a  fair  sweet  face  on  which  he  had  once  gazed 
with  loving  eyes,  and  of  a  maiden  to  whom  he  had  sworn 
lifelong'  devotion. 

But  the  first  pigeon  continued : — 

'  Do  you  remember,  or  have  you  quite  forgotten,  how 
we  fled  away  together,  and  how  frightened  we  were  when 
the  witch  pursued  us,  and  how  we  clung  to  each  other, 
and  vowed,  if  she  overtook  us  to  kill  us,  we  would  die  in 
each  other's  arms,  till  a  fairy  met  us  and  gave  us  the 
means  to  escape,  and  forbad  you  to  kiss  anyone,  even  your 
own  mother,  till  after  our  marriage  ? ' 

And  the  second  pigeon  answered,— 

'  Yes,  ah  yes  !  I  remember  it  now.' 

And  when  the  second  pigeon  said,  *  Yes,  ah  yes !  I  re- 
member it  now,'  the  whole  of  the  past  came  back  to  his 


1 2  Favole. 

mind,  and  with  it  all  his  love  for  Filagranata.  So  he 
rose  up  12  and  would  have  stroked  the  pigeons  which  had 
brought  it  all  to  his  mind,  but  when  he  touched  them 
they  melted  away,  and  the  sweetmeats  were  scattered  all 
over  the  table,  and  the  guests  picked  them  up.  But 
the  prince  ran  in  haste  to  fetch  Filagranata,  and  he 
brought  her  and  placed  her  by  his  side  in  the  banquet- 
hall.  But  the  second  bride  was  sent  back,  with  presents, 
to  her  own  people. 

4  And  so  it  all  came  right  at  last,'  pursued  the  nar- 
rator. '  Lackaday !  that  there  are  no  fairies  now  to  make 
things  all  happen  right.  There  are  plenty  of  people  who 
seem  to  have  the  devil  in  them  for  doing  you  a  mis- 
chief, but  there  are  no  fairies  to  set  things  straight  again, 
alas ! ' 

1  This  story  comes  from  Palombara. 

2  The  expression  employed  in  this  place  was  '  Orca ; '  as  this  is  a  word 
of  most  frequent,  but  somewhat  capricious  use,  I  interrupted  the  narrator 
to   inquire  her  conception  of  it.     'Well,    it   means   a   species  of  beast,' 
she  said;  'but  you  see  it  must   have  been  a  bewitched  ('fatata')  beast, 
because   the   story   says   it   was  so  rich,   and  had   a   palace,   and  spoke 
and  did  all  the  things  you  shall  hear.'     She  did  not,  however,  seem  to 
identify  it  with  the  evil  principle  according  to  its  undoubted  derivation, 
nor  did  she  allow  either  that  it  had  any  connexion  with  '  orso,'  a  bear,  as 
the  narrator  of  the  '  il  Vaso  di  Persa '  had  expounded  it,  and  indeed  as  the 
details  of  that  story  required ;    it  will   be  seen,  therefore,  that  popular 
fancy  invests  the  monster  with  various  shapes.     The  story  of  '  The  Pot  of 
Marjeram,'  it  will  be  seen,  contains  one  or  two  incidents  in  common  with  this 
one.     The  apparently   insignificant  detail  of  the   little  plant — on  which, 
however,  both  stories  rest  for  a  foundation — is  noteworthy,  the  narrator  in 
each  instance  being  most  positive  that  it  was  the  one  she  had  named  and 
no  other,  and  in  both  cases  insisting  on  showing  me  the  plant,  that  there 
might  be  no  mistake  about  it.    (See  note  to  the  word  '  Persa,'  infra,  p.  54.) 

Filagranata  bella  bella,   . 

Tira  giu  le  bionde  trecce, 

Ch'  io  son  nonna  vecchiarella. 

'  Tira  giu,'  or  '  butta  giu,'  as  in  the  next  repetition,  mean  equally 
'  throw  down.'  '  Biondo '  expresses  particularly  the  yellow  tint  in  hair. 
Bazzarini,  '  Ortografia  Enciclopedica  Universale,'  defines  it,  '  colore  tra  il 
giallo  e  bianco  ed  e  proprio  di  capelli,'  on  the  authority  of  Petrarch's  use 
of  the  word.  He  has  also  '  biondeggiante,  che  biondeggia,  che  ingiallisce,' 


Filagranata.  \  3 

turning  or  tending  to  yellow ;  and  it  is  thus  the  yellow  Tiber  gets  called 
'  il  biondo  Tevere.' 

4  '  Portogallo '  is  now  the  ordinary  word  for  an  orange,  and  points  to  the 
introduction  of  the  fruit  from  the  Portuguese  colonies  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury.    The  '  arancia,'   '  melarancia,'  or  '  merangola,'  the  ungrafted  orange- 
tree,  'was,  however,  indigenous  in  Italy ;  and  the  fruit,  which  has  even  a 
finer  appearance  than  the  edible  orange,  is  still  grown  for  ornament  in 
Eoman  gardens. 

5  '  Puzzo,'  stink.     There  is  no  neutral  word  in  Italian  for  a  smell ;  you 
must  define  a  good  or  a  bad  smell  either  as  a  perfume  or  a  stink. 

6  '  Camminando,    camminando,    camminando.'      This    threefold   repe- 
tition of  this  verb,   according  to  the   tense  and  person  required  by  the 
story,  I  hare  found  used  as  a  sort  of  sing-song  refrain  by  all  the  tellers  of 
tales  I  have  had  to  do  with. 

7  '  Vecchiarella,'  little  old  woman. 

8  'Fata;'  ethnologically  Fata  is  the  same  as  '  Fairy,' '  Fee,' &c.,  Sec., 
and  '  fairy '  is  the  only  translation ;  but  it  will  be  observed  the  Italian 
'  fata '  has  always  different  characteristics  from  the  English  '  fairy.' 

9  '  Buzzica  '  is  a  homely  word  for  a  lamp-filler ;  it  probably  comes  from 
'  buzzicare,'  to  more  gently  or  slowly.     The  narrator  used  the  word  because 
she  would,  according  to  local  custom,  keep  her  oil  in  a  '  buzzica,'  without 
perceiving  that  it  was  most  inappropriate  for  the  purpose  of  the  story,  which 
required  that  the  oil  should  be  poured  out  quickly. 

10  '  Allagato,'   inundated.      I   preserve   the  word   on    account  of    its 
expressiveness — literally  making  a  lake  of  the  country. 

11  'Fior  di  farina.' 

12  As  the  story  was  told  me  the  dialogue  was  broken,  and  every  inci- 
dent of  the  journey  was  made   the  subject  of  a   separate  question   and 
answer ;  all  the  furniture  in  the  room  also  here  entered  into  conversation 
with  the  pigeons,  brooms  being  particularly  loquacious ;  but  as  it  became 
tedious,  and  by  no  means  added  to  the  poetry  of  the  situation,  I  condensed 
it  to  the  dimensions  in  the  text. 

[I  have  placed  this  story  first  in  order,  as  its  incidents  ramify 
into  half  the  traditionary  tales  with  which  we  are  acquainted. 

(1.)  '  Rapunzel,'  No.  12  in  '  Grimm,'  is  the  most  like  it  among 
the  German  in  the  beginning,  and  has  the  most  dissimilar  ending. 
The  counterpart  form,  in  which  it  is  some  misdeed  or  ill-luck  of 
the  father  instead  of  the  mother,  which  involves  the  surrender  o£ 
the  first-born,  is  the  more  frequent  opening,  as  in  '  The  Water 
King,'  Ralston's  '  Eussian  Folk  Tales,'  p.  120.  '  The  Lassie  and 
her  Godmother,'  in  Dr.  Dasent's  '  Norse  Tales,'  has  an  opening  like 
'  Filagranata,'  which,  as  it  proceeds,  connects  it  with  '  Marienkind,' 
No.  4  in  '  Grimm  ; '  and  the  prohibition  to  open  the  room,  in  that 


14  Favoie. 

one,  carries  on  the  connexion  to  another  group,  the  Bluebeard 
group,  represented  in  this  series  by  '  Monsoo  Mostro,'  *  Re 
Moro,'  &c. ;  while,  further  on,  '  Lassie  and  her  Godmother ' 
evolves  the  incident  of  the  reflection  in  the  well,  which  connects 
it  with  the  following  story  in  this  collection,  and  in  this  round- 
about way,  though  not  in  direct  form,  with  the  termination  of 
'  Filagranata.' 

(2.)  The  introduction  of  an  orange  as  a  help  to  defy  the 
'  orca,'  connects  the  story  again  with  the  two  next  (though  the 
fruit  is  used  differently),  and  with  a  vast  number  of  myths,  as 
pointed  out  in  Campbell's '  Tales  of  the  West  Highlands,'  Introduc- 
tion, pp.  Ixxx-lxxxv.  I  was  rather  put  off  the  scent  by  the 
narrator  using  the  word  portogallo :  melagranata,  though  pro- 
perly a  pomegranate,  is,  I  think,  used  in  old  Italian  for  an 
orange,  being  simply  a  red,  or  golden,  apple, 

(3.)  The  three  gifts  of  the  trowel,  the  comb,  and  the  oil- 
filler, again  bring  this  story  in  connexion  with  another  vast 
group.  Compare  '  Campbell,'  iv.  290  ;  also  his  remarks,  i.  58-62, 
on  the  '  Battle  of  the  Birds,'  which  story  this  resembles  in  the 
main,  but,  as  will  be  found  throughout  this  collection,  the  Roman 
form  is  milder.  The  prince  wins  his  bride  without  performing 
tasks,  and  the  couple,  in  escaping,  have  only  to  kill  a  strange 
(  orca,'  and  not  the  girl's  own  father.  In  the  third  version  of  the 
tale  in  Mr.  Campbell's  series,  the  girl  becomes  a  poultry-maid, 
and  has  three  fine  dresses,  constituting  a  link  with  another  group — 
that  of  Cinderella  (I  have  given  the  Tirolean  one  as  *  Klein- 
Else  '  in  '  Household  Stories  from  the  Land  of  Hofer') ;  and  the 
three  dresses  there  (though  not  in  the  Gaelic  story)  representing 
the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  give  it  another  connexion  with  '  Marien- 
kind.'  '  The  Master  Maid,'  in  Dr.  Dasent's  collection,  again,  has 
the  golden  apple  (though  it  assists  in  a  different  way)  and  the 
ending  of  the  Roman  version  (a  golden  cock  there  taking  the  part 
of  the  two  paste  pigeons),  but  begins  with  the  tasks  in  the  '  Giant's 
House '  of  the  Gaelic  version,  which  the  Roman  ignores. 

In  the  Russian  story  of  '  Baba  Yaga  '  (Ralston's  '  Russian  Folk 
Tales,'  pp.  139)  we  have  the  three  magic  gifts.  Though  Mr. 
Campbell  has  a  very  ingenious  solution  for  the  idea  of  the 
supernatural  attaching  to  swords  (i.  Ixxii),  the  same  does  not 
seem  at  all  to  explain  the  introduction  of  supernatural  combs ; 


Filagranata.  1 5 

when  I  once  found  a  comb  transformed  into  a  mountain  in  a 
Tirolean  story,  I  thought,  as  Mr.  Ralston  has  also  suggested 
(p.  144),  that  it  fitted  very  well  with  the  German  expression  for 
a  mountain-ridge ;  but  he  does  not  tell  us  whether  the  metaphor 
holds  good  in  Russ,  where  he  finds  it  used;  and  in  the  pre- 
sent instance  it  is  a  hedge  of  thorns  into  which  the  comb  resolves 
itself.  I  have  another  Roman  story,  in  which  the  comb  '  swelled 
and  swelled  till  every  one  of  its  teeth  became  a  pier,  and  the 
spaces  between  them  were  arches,  and  it  was  a  bridge  by  which 
one  could  pass  over.' 

(4.)  The  kiss  which  brings  forgetfulness,  again,  is  found  in 
the  myths  of  every  country.  It  occurs  in  the  Tirolean  story  I 
have  given  as  the  '  Dove-Maiden  '  in  '  Household  Stories  from  the 
Land  of  Hofer,'  though  I  had  to  omit  it  there  for  want  of  space  ; 
but  the  remaining  episodes  of  that  story  are  nearly  identical  with 
those  of  the  Russian  story  of  '  The  Water-King  ;'  and  in  the  Tiro- 
lean  story  the  maiden  is  fetched  from  a  heathen  magician's  house 
by  the  aid  of  saints,  while  in  the  others  it  is  from  giants'  or 
witches'  abodes,  by  aid  of  other  giants  and  witches.  Mr.  Ral- 
ston supplies,  at  pp.  132-7,  a  long  list  of  variants  of  this  story, 
and  in  a  Russian  one,  at  p.  133,  comes  a  ride  on  a  Bear,  which  is 
one  of  the  incidents  in  the  '  Dove-Maiden,'  though,  if  I  remember 
right,  it  does  not  occur  in  any  of  the  others.  In  Mr.  Campbell's 
notes  to  '  The  Battle  of  the  Birds  '  are  also  collected  notices  of 
variants  of  this  episode. 

The  affinity  of  this  story  with  others  again  will  be  found  in 
Mr.  Cox's  '  Mythology  of  the  Aryan  Nations,'  ii.  p.  301.] 


THE  THREE  LOVE-ORANGES? 

THEY  SAY  there  was  a  king's  son  who  went  out  to  hunt.2 
It  was  a  winter's  day,  and  the  ground  was  covered  with 
snow,  so  that  when  he  brought  down  the  birds  with  his 
arquebuse  the  red  blood  made  beautiful  bright  marks  on 
the  dazzling  white  snow. 

*  How  beautiful ! '  exclaimed  the  prince.     '  Never  will 


1 6  Favole. 

I  marry  till  I  find  one  with  a  complexion  fair  as  this  snow, 
and  tinted  like  this  rosy  blood.' 

When  his  day's  sport  was  at  an  end,  he  went  home 
and  told  his  parents  that  he  was  going  to  wander  over  the 
world  till  he  found  one  fair  as  snow,  tinted  like  rosy  blood. 
The  parents  approved  his  design  and  sent  him  forth. 

On,  on,  on  he  went,  till  one  day  he  met  a  little  old 
woman,  who  stopped  him,  saying :  '  Whither  so  fast,  fair 
prince  ? ' 

He  replied,  '  I  walk  the  earth  till  I  find  one  who 
is  fair  as  snow,  tinted  like  rosy  blood,  to  make  her  my 
wife.' 

'  That  can  I  help  you  to,  and  I  alone,'  said  the  little 
old  woman,  who  was  a  fairy  ;  and  then  she  gave  him  the 
three  love-oranges,  telling  him  that  when  he  opened  one 
such  a  maiden  as  he  was  in  search  of  would  appear,  but 
he  must  immediately  look  for  water  and  sprinkle  her,  or 
she  would  disappear  again. 

The  prince  took  the  oranges,  and  wandered  on.  On, 
on,  on  he  went,  till  at  last  the  fancy  took  him  to  break 
open  one  of  the  oranges.  Immediately  a  beautiful  maiden 
appeared,  whose  complexion  was  indeed  fair  as  snow,  and 
tinted  like  rosy  blood,  but  it  was  only  when  she  had 
already  disappeared  that  he  recollected  about  the  water. 
It  was  too  late,  so  on  he  wandered  again  till  the  fancy 
took  him  to  open  another  orange.  Instantly  another 
maiden  appeared,  fairer  than  the  other,  and  he  lost  no  time 
in  looking  for  water  to  sprinkle  her,  but  there  was  none, 
and  before  he  came  back  from  the  search  she  was  gone. 

On  he  wandered  again  till  he  was  nearly  home,  when 
one  day  he  noticed  a  handsome  fountain  standing  by  the 
road,  and  over  against  it  a  fine  palace.  The  sight  of  the 
fountain  made  him  think  of  his  third  orange,  and  he  took 
it  out  and  broke  it  open. 

Instantly  a  third  maiden  appeared,  far  fairer  than 
either  of  the  others  ;  with  the  water  of  the  fountain  he 


The  Three  Love-Oranges.  1 7 

sprinkled  her  the  moment  she  appeared,  and  she  vanished 
not,  but  staid  with  him  and  loved  him. 

Then  he  said,  '  You  must  stay  here  in  this  bower  while 
I  go  on  home  and  fetch  a  retinue  worthy  to  escort  you.' 

In  a  palace  opposite  the  fountain  lived  a  black  Saracen 
woman,3  and  just  then  she  went  down  to  the  fountain  to 
draw  water,  and  as  she  looked  into  the  water  she  said, 
'  My  mistress  says  that  I  am  so  ugly,  but  I  am  so  fair, 
therefore  I  break  the  pitcher  and  the  little  pitcher.' 4 

Then  she  looked  up  in  the  bower,  and  seeing  the  beau- 
tiful maiden,  she  called  her  down,  and  caressed  her,  and 
stroked  her  hair,  and  praised  her  beauty ;  but  as  she 
stroked  her  hair  she  took  out  a  magic  pin,  and  stuck  it 
into  her  head,  and  instantly  the  maiden  became  a  dove 
and  perched  on  the  side  of  the  fountain. 

Then  she  broke  the  pitcher  and  the  little  pitcher,  and 
the  prince  came  back. 

When  the  prince  saw  the  ugly  black  woman  standing 
in  the  bower  where  he  had  left  his  beautiful  maiden,  he 
was  quite  bewildered,  and  looked  all  about  for  her. 

'  I  am  she  whom  you  seek,  prince,'  said  the  woman. 
'  It  is  the  sun  has  changed  me  thus  while  standing  here 
waiting  for  you  ;  but  all  will  come  right  when  I  get  away 
from  the  sun.' 

The  prince  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it  but  to  take  her  and  trust  to  her  coming- 
right  when  she  got  away  from  the  sun.  He  took  her 
home,  therefore,  and  right  grand  preparations  were  made 
for  the  royal  marriage.  Tapestries  were  hung  on  the 
walls,  and  flowers  strewed  the  floor,  while  in  the  kitchen 
was  the  cook  as  busy  as  a  bee,  preparing  I  know  not  how 
many  dishes  for  the  royal  banquet. 

Then,  lo,  there  came  and  perched  on  the  kitchen  window 
a  little  dove,  and  sang,  '  Cook,  cook,  for  whom  are  you 
cooking ;  for  the  son  of  the  king,  or  the  Saracen  Moor  ? 
May  the  cook  fall  asleep,  and  may  all  the  viands  be  burnt ! ' 5 


1 8  Favole. 

After  this  nothing  would  go  right  in  the  kitchen; 
every  day  all  the  dishes  got  burnt,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  give  the  wedding  banquet,  because  there  was  nothing 
fit  to  send  up  to  the  table.  Then  the  king's  son  came 
into  the  kitchen  to  learn  what  had  happened,  and  they 
showed  him  the  dove  which  had  done  all.  '  Sweet  little 
dove  ! '  said  the  prince,  and,  catching  it  in  his  hand,  began 
to  caress  it ;  thus  he  felt  the  pin  in  its  head,  and  pulled  it 
out.  Instantly  his  own  fair  maiden  stood  before  him, 
white  as  snow,  rosy  as  blood.  Then  the  mystery  was 
cleared  up,  and  there  was  great  rejoicing,  and  the  old 
witch  was  burnt. 

1  '  I  tre  Melangoli  di  amore  ; '  melangolo  or  merangolo,  or  merangola, 
an  ungrafted  orange.     See  note  to  '  Filagranata.' 

2  '  Caccia,'  though  usually  translated  by  '  hunt,'  is  used  for  all  kinds  of 
sport.     Bazzarini  says  it  even  includes  '  pallone '  and  other  games  ;  but  it 
is  in  common  use  for  shooting  small  birds  as  for  hunting  quadrupeds. 

8  '  Mora  Saracena,'  a  black  Saracen  woman  ;  • '  mora '  is  in  constant  use 
for  a  dark-coloured  person.  Senhor  de  Saraiva  tells  me  that  a  so-called 
'  Mora  encantada '  figures  as  one  of  the  favourite  personages  in  Portuguese 
traditionary  tales ;  but  she  is  less  often  an  actual  Moor  than  a  princess 
held  in  thrall  by  Moorish  art,  to  be  set  free  by  Christian  chivalry.  She 
is  often  represented  as  bound  at  the  bottom  of  a  well. 

4  Mia  padrona  dice  che  son  tanta  brutta, 

E  son  tanta  bella, 

10  rompo  la  brocca  e  la  brocchetta. 

This  verse  would  be  hardly  comprehensible  but  that  the  incident  is  better 
explained  in  the  more  detailed  versions  of  other  countries  mentioned  in 
note  to  the  last  tale.  The  ugly  'Mora '  sees  the  reflection  of  the  face  of  the 
beautiful  maiden  who  sits  in  the  tree  overlooking  the  fountain,  and  takes 
it  for  her  own.  See  Campbell's  Tales  of  the  W.  Highlands,  pp.  56-7,  &c. 
4  Cuoco,  cuoco,  per  chi  cucinate, 

Pel  figlio  del  re  o  per  la  mora  Saracena  ? 

11  cuoco  si  possa  dormentar', 

E  le  vivande  si  possano  bruciar'. 

[This  story,  besides  its  similarities  with  those  mentioned  in 
note  of  the  foregoing,  is  substantially  the  same  as  '  Die  weisse  u. 
die  schwarze  Braut '  in  Grimm  (with  his  '  Schneeweisschen  u. 
Kosenroth '  it  seems  to  have  nothing  in  common,  though  the 
words  '  Snow-white  and  rose-red  '  suggest  it)  ;  but  its  commence- 
ment is  different  The  German  Tale  of  Sneewittchen  (Grimm, 


The  Three  Love-Oranges.  19 

p.  206)  has  also  much  similarity  with  it :  a  queen  sat  working  in 
a  window  framed  with  ebony ;  she  pricks  her  finger,  and  three 
drops  of  blood  that  fall  on  the  snow  suggest  the  wish  that  her 
child  may  be  fair  as  snow,  red  as  blood,  and  her  hair  as  dark  as 
ebony.  Her  wishes  are  fulfilled,  and  she  dies.  She  is  succeeded 
by  a  witch-stepmother,  from  whom  the  child  of  wishes  suffers 
many  things,  but  the  witch  is  ultimately  danced  to  death  in  red- 
hot  iron  shoes.  A  link  between  them  is  supplied  by  the  next 
following,  in  which  the  opening  agrees  with  the  German  story. 
In  Schneller's  '  Legends  of  the  Italian  Tirol '  are  two,  with  a  title 
similar  to  the  Roman  one.  In  the  first  ('  I  tre  aranci ')  the  girl 
becomes  the  property  of  a  fairy,  as  in  Filagranata.  She  is  sent 
to  fetch  three  oranges,  which  she  does  by  the  help  of  five  gifts 
given  her  by  an  old  man  ;  but  the  whole  ends  in  the  good  child 
wishing  as  her  only  reward  to  be  restored  to  her  mother.  The 
other  is  called  '  L'amor  dei  tre  aranci.'  In  this  the  prince  breaks 
a  witch's  milkjug  while  playing  at  ball,  and  in  revenge  she  tells 
him  he  shall  not  marry  till  he  finds  '  the  Love  of  the  three 
oranges,'  which  he  similarly  obtains  by  the  help  of  five  gifts  re- 
ceived of  an  old  woman ;  when  he  opens  them,  the  story  goes  on 
just  like  the  Roman  one,  the  verse  of  the  dove  being  a  little 
different : — 

Cogo,  bel  cogo, 

Endormeazate  al  fogo, 

Che  1'arrosto  se  possa  brusar, 
E  la  fiola  (figlia)  della  stria  non  ne  possa  magnar. 

and  there  is  nothing  about  '  fair  as  snow,  rosy  as  blood,'  in  it. 
He  has  another,  '  Quel  dalla  coda  di  oro,'  in  which  three  golden 
apples  or  balls  play  a  prominent  part,  but  it  belongs  to  another 
group.  A  second  version  of  this,  entitled  '  I  ponii  d  oro,'  how- 
ever, is  a  strange  mixture  of  the  various  Tirolean  and  Roman 
versions. 

The  Hungarian  story  of  '  Vas  Laczi '  (Iron  Ladislas)  begins, 
like  '  L'amor  dei  tre  aranci,'  by  a  young  prince  getting  into  a 
scrape  with  a  witch,  this  time  by  breaking  her  basket  of  eggs.  His 
punishment  is  the  fulfilment  of  his  first  wish,  and  his  first  wish 
happens  to  be  a  pettish  one,  that  the  earth  might  swallow  up  his 
three  sisters ;  as  one  of  them  is  said  to  be  always  dressed  like  the 
sun,  the  second  like  the  moon,  and  the  third  like  the  stars,  we  have 
c  2 


2o  Favole. 

a  link  with  the  German  Marienkind  and  the  Tirolean  Klein-Else. 
Afterwards  iron  Ladislas  goes  in  search  of  his  sisters,  and  en- 
counters many  heroic  adventures  and  many  transformations,  in 
one  of  which  a  tree  in  a  dragon's  garden  with  golden  apples 
is  a  prominent  detail. 

A  tree  with  golden  fruit  is  also  an  important  incident  in  the 
principal  and  most  popular  of  Hungarian  myths,  that  of  '  Ttinder 
Illona'  (Fairy  Helen).  As  it  is  seen  depicted  on  the  thirteen 
compartments  of  the  grand  staircase  walls  of  the  National  Club 
at  Pest,  Tiinder  Illona  appears  in  the  first  as  the  Goddess  or 
Queen  of  Summer  held  in  thrall  by  the  stern  witch  the  Goddess 
or  Queen  of  "Winter.  She  is  seen  planting  in  the  territory  of 
the  Earth-King  a  tree  which  represents  her  earnest  longings  after 
freedom,  and  committing  it  to  the  benign  influence  of  the  Sun- 
King. 

The  second  shows  this  mystical  tree  bearing  its  golden  fruit, 
which  the  beautiful  Fairy,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  boldness,  is 
hasting  to  pluck  off,  borne  on  a  chariot  formed  of  obedient 
swans.  The  Wind-genius  wafts  poppy  seeds  over  the  eyes  of 
the  armed  guard  the  Winter-Queen  had  set  round  the  tree,  and 
lulls  them  to  sleep. 

In  the  third  Argilus,  the  Earth-Prince,  is  seen  surprising  in  his 
(up  till  then  vain)  nightly  attempt  to  gather  the  golden  fruit, 
Tiinder  Illona's  departing  convoy.  He  aims  an  arrow  at  the  coy 
plunderer ;  then  suddenly  a  glance  from  her  pierces  his  heart 
instead,  and  he  lets  the  arrow  harmles-sly  strike  the  ground. 

The  fourth  portrays  the  happy  union  of  Illona  and  Argilus, 
Summer  and  Earth;  but  the  Winter-Queen  comes  by  enraged 
at  then-  successful  defiance  of  her,  and  cuts  off  Illona's  beautiful 
golden  locks.  (The  people  have  it  that  these  locks  borne  along 
by  the  winds  planted  the  Puszta  with  the  beautiful  long  feathery 
grass  which  they  call  '  Orphan-girl's  hair  ').  In  the  distance  are 
seen  the  parents  of  the  Earth-Prince  hurrying  forward  in  search 
of  their  son. 

The  fifth  shows  TUnder  Illona  waking  from  her  delicious 
slumber,  and  on  discovering  the  loss  of  the  mantle  of  her  hair, 
hasting  back  in  agony  to  her  swan-chariot.  Argiius  in  vain 
stretches  out  his  arms  after  her,  and  prays  her  to  remain  always 
with  him. 


The  Three  Love-Oranges.  21 

In  the  sixth  the  scene  is  changed  to  the  dwelling  of  the 
Earth-King.  Prince  Argilus  is  taking  leave  of  his  parents  as  he 
starts  on  his  perilous  journey,  determined  to  deliver  the  captive 
Fairy. 

In  the  seventh  the  Earth-Prince  has  advanced  on  his  journey 
as  far  as  the  dwelling  of  a  giant,  of  whom  he  asks  counsel,  and 
who  appoints  him  three  witches  to  show  the  way  to  regain  the 
Tunder. 

In  the  eighth  he  is  seen  victorious  in  a  late  conflict  with 
three  giants,  from  each  of  whom  he  has  succeeded  in  gaining  an 
instrument  necessary  for  his  purpose ;  from  one  a  switch,  from 
another  a  pipe,  from  the  third  a  conjuring  mantle.  The  giants 
throw  down  masses  of  rock  upon  him,  but  he  spreads  out  the 
conjuring  mantle,  and  committing  himself  to  it,  floats  securely 
through  the  air. 

In  the  ninth  Argilus  has  reached  the  Winter-Witch's  border, 
and  prepares  to  engage  in  combat  with  the  dragon  who  guards  it. 

The  tenth  is  highly  sensational.  The  Winter-Witch  has 
thrown  a  deep  sleep  over  him,  and  the  poor  Summer-Fairy 
strives  to  awaken  him  in  vain. 

In  -the  eleventh  the  ardent  desires  of  Tunder  Illona  have 
prevailed  over  all  the  enchantments  of  the  Winter- Witch,  and  at 
her  prayer  there  rises  up  from  the  innermost  region  of  the  earth 
the  fairy  Iron-Queen,  who  brings  the  Tatos,  the  winged  magic 
horse  who  is  to  bear  the  Prince  through  all  dangers  to  certain 
victory. 

The  twelfth  shows  Argilus  and  Illona  once  more  united, 
enthroned  side  by  side,  and  subjects  bearing  them  offerings. 

The  thirteenth  is  a  large  composition  symbolising  the  mystic 
union  of  Earth  and  Summer,  whence  sprang,  says  the  myth, 
Autumn  with  her  abundant  fruits,  and  the  great  god  Pan,  the 
author  of  all  productiveness,  who  called  the  land  of  his  birth  after 
his  own  name  and  blessed  it  with  fecundity  above  all  nations  of 
the  earth.  The  tree  of  golden  fruit,  the  first  occasion  of  the 
auspicious  meeting  which  led  to  this  union,  is  again  introduced, 
and  Ttinder  Illona  is  again  clothed  in  her  luxuriant  mantle  of 
golden  hair.] 


22  Favole. 


PAL  OMBELLETTA. ' 

THEY  say  there  was  a  peasant  whose  wife  had  died  and 
left  him  one  little  girl,  who  was  the  most  beautiful  crea- 
ture that  ever  was  seen ;  no  one  on  earth  could  compare 
with  her  for  beauty.  After  a  while  the  peasant  married 
again  :  this  time  he  married  a  peasant-woman  who  had  a 
daughter  who  was  the  most  deformed  object  that  ever  was 
seen ;  no  cripple  on  earth  could  compare  with  her  for 
deformity ;  and,  moreover,  her  skin  was  quite  black  and 
shrivelled,  and  altogether  no  one  could  bear  to  look  at 
her,  she  was  so  hideous. 

One  day  when  everyone  was  out,  and  only  the  fair 
daughter  at  home,  the  king  came  by  from  hunting  thirsty, 
and  he  stopped  at  the  cottage  and  asked  the  fair  maid  for 
a  glass  of  water.  When  he  saw  how  fair  she  was  and  with 
what  grace  she  waited  on  him,  he  said,  '  Fair  maiden,  if 
you  will,  I  will  come  back  in  eight  days  and  make  you 
my  wife.'  The  maiden  answered,  '  Indeed  I  will  it,  your 
Majesty ! '  and  the  king  rode  away. 

When  the  stepmother  came  home  the  simple  maiden 
told  her  all  that  had  happened,  and  she  answered  her 
deceitfully,  congratulating  her  on  her  good  fortune. 
Before  the  day  came  round,  however,  she  shut  the  fair 
maiden  in  the  cellar.  When  the  king  came  she  went  out 
to  meet  him  with  a  smiling  face,  saying,  '  Good  day,  Sire  ! 
What  is  your  royal  pleasure  ?  '  And  the  king  answered, 
*  To  marry  your  daughter  am  I  come.'  Then  the  step- 
mother brought  out  her  own  daughter  to  him,  all  wrapped 
up  in  a  wide  mantle,  and  her  face  covered  with  a  thick 
veil,  and  a  hood  over  that. 

'  Eest  assured,  good  woman,  that  your  daughter  will 
be  my  tenderest  care,'  said  the  king ;  '  but  you  must  take 
those  wrappers  off.' 

'  By   no    means,    Sire ! '    exclaimed    the  stepmother. 


Palombelletta.  23 

'  And  beware  you  do  it  not.  You  have  seen  how  fair  she  is 
above  all  the  children  of  earth.  But  this  exceeding  beauty 
she  has  on  one  condition.  If  one  breath  of  air  strike  her 
she  loses  it  all.  Therefore,  Oh,  king!  let  not  the  veil  be 
removed.' 

When  the  king  heard  that  he  called  for  another  veil, 
and  another  hood,  and  wrapping  her  still  more  carefully 
round,  handed  her  into  the  carriage  he  had  brought  for  her, 
shut  the  door  close,  and  rode  away  on  horseback  by  her  side. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  palace  the  hideous  daughter 
of  the  stepmother  was  married  to  the  king  all  wrapt  up 
in  her  veils. 

The  stepmother,  however,  went  into  her  room,  full 
of  triumph  at  what  she  had  done.  '  But  what  am  I 
to  do  with  the  other  girl ! '  she  said  to  herself ;  '  some- 
how or  other  some  day  she  will  get  out  of  the  cellar,  and 
the  king  will  see  her,  and  it  will  be  worse  for  my  daughter 
than  before.'  And  as  she  knew  not  what  to  do  she  went  to 
a  witch  to  help  her.  '  This  is  what  you  must  do,'  said  the 
witch ;  'take  this  pin'  (and  she  gave  her  a  long  pin  with  a 
gold  head),  '  and  put  it  into  the  head  of  the  maiden,  and 
she  will  become  a  dove.  Then  have  ready  a  cage,  and  keep 
her  in  it,  and  no  one  will  ever  see  her  for  a  maiden  more.' 

The  stepmother  went  therefore,  and  bought  a  cage, 
and  taking  the  large  pin 2  down  into  the  cellar,  she  drove 
the  pin  into  the  fair  maiden's  head,  holding  open  the  cage 
as  she  did  so. 

As  soon  as  the  pin  entered  the  maiden's  head  she  be- 
came a  dove,  but  instead  of  flying  into  the  cage  she  flew 
over  the  stepmother's  head  far  away  out  of  sight. 

On  she  flew  till  she  came  to  the  king's  palace,  right 
against  the  window  of  the  kitchen  where  the  cook  was 
ready  preparing  a  great  dinner  for  the  king.  The  cook 
looked  round  as  he  heard  the  poor  little  dove  beating  its 
frightened  breast  against  the  window,  and,  fearful  lest  it 
should  hurt  itself,  he  opened  the  window. 


24  Favole. 

In  flew  the  dove  as  soon  as  he  opened  the  window,  and 
flew  three  times  round  his  head,  singing  each  time  as  she 
did  so  : — '  0  cook !  0  cook  !  of  the  royal  kitchen,  what 
shall  we  do  with  the  Queen  ?  All  of  you  put  yourselves  to 
sleep,  and  may  the  dinner  be  burnt  up ! 3 

As  soon  as  she  had  sung  this  the  third  time  the  cook 
sank  into  a  deep  sleep  ;  the  dinner  from  want  of  attention 
was  all  burnt  up ;  and  when  the  king  sat  down  to  table, 
there  was  nothing  to  set  before  him. 

'  Where  is  the  dinner  ? '  exclaimed  the  king,  as  he 
looked  over  the  empty  table  to  which  he  had  brought  his 
bride,  still  wrapt  up  in  her  thick  veils. 

'  Please  your  Majesty,  the  dinner  is  all  burnt  up  as 
black  as  charcoal,'  said  the  chamberlain ;  '  and  the  cook 
sits  in  the  kitchen  so  fast  asleep  that  no  one  can  wake 
him.' 

'  Gro  and  fetch  me  a  dinner  from  the  inn,'  said  the 
king  ;  '  and  the  cook,  when  he  comes  to  himself,  let  him 
be  brought  before  me.' 

After  a  time  the  cook  came  to  himself,  and  the  cham- 
berlain brought  him  before  the  king. 

'  Tell  me  how  this  happened,'  said  the  king  to  the 
cook.  '  All  these  years  you  have  served  me  well  and 
faithfully  ;  how  is  it  that  to-day,  when  the  dinner  should 
have  been  of  the  best  in  honour  of  my  bride,  everything 
is  burnt  up,  and  the  king's  table  is  left  empty  ? ' 

4  Indeed,  the  dinner  had  been  of  the  best,  Sire,'  answered 
the  cook.  'So  had  I  prepared  it.  Only,  when  all  was 
nearly  ready,  there  came  a  dove  flying  in  at  the  window, 
and  flew  three  times  round  my  head,  singing  each  time, 

Cook  of  the  royal  kitchen, 

What  shall  we  do  with  the  Queen  ? 
Sleep  ye  all  soundly,  and  burnt  be  the  meal 

Which  on  the  King's  board  should  have  been. 

After  that  a  deep  sleep  fell  on  me  and  I  know  nothing 
more  of  what  happened.' 


Palombelletta.  25 

4  That  must  have  been  a  singular  dove,'  said  the  king ; 
'  bring  her  to  me  and  you  shall  be  forgiven.' 

The  cook  went  down  to  look  for  the  dove,  and  found 
her  midway,  flying  to  meet  him. 

'  There  is  the  dove,  Sire,'  said  the  cook,  handing  the 
dove  to  the  king. 

'  So  you  spoilt  my  dinner,  did  you  palombelletta,'  said 
the  king.  '  But  never  mind ;  you  are  a  dear  little  dove, 
and  I  forgive  you,'  and  he  put  her  in  his  breast  and  stroked 
her.  Thus,  as  he  went  on  stroking  and  fondling  her, 
calling  her  '  palombelletta  bella  ! '  he  felt  the  gold  head  of 
the  stepmother's  big  pin  through  the  feathers.  '  What 
have  you  got  in  your  head,  palombelletta  dear  ?  '  he  said, 
and  pulled  the  pin  out. 

Instantly  the  fair  maiden  stood  before  him  in  all  her 
surpassing  beauty  as  he  had  seen  her  at  the  first.  '  Are 
you  not  my  fair  maiden  who  promised  to  marry  me  ? ' 
exclaimed  the  king. 

'  The  very  same,  and  no  other,'  replied  the  maiden. 

'  Then  who  is  this  one  ? '  said  the  king,  and  he  turned 
to  the  stepmother's  daughter  beside  him,  and  tore  off  her 
veil.  Then  he  understood  the  deceit  that  had  been  played 
on  him,  and  he  sent  for  the  stepmother,  and  ordered  that 
she  and  her  daughter  should  be  punished  with  death. 

1  '  Palombelletta,'  dear  little  dove. 

2  '  Spillone,'  big  pin.     This  magic  use  of  long  pins  driven  into  the 
head   is   one   of  the   frequent   charges   against  -witches.      See  numerous 
instances  at  various  epochs  given  by  Del  Rio,  '  Disquisitionum  Magicarum,' 
lib.   iii.  p.  1,  2  iv.  s.  II.,  where  he  mentions  among  others   the  cases  of 
two  midwives  who  were  convicted  in  Germany  of  having  destroyed,  the  one 
forty,  the  other  innumerable,  new-born  infants  in  this  manner. 

Cuoco !  cuoco  !  di  reale  cucina 

Che  faremo  della  regina  ? 

Tutti  posse  a  dormentar', 

E  la  pranza  posse  bruciar. 

The  words  have  been  dipt  in  repetition.  '  Posse,'  in  the  third  line, 
must  be  a  corruption  of  '  si  pongono,'  from  the  verb  '  ponere ; '  and  in  the 
third  line,  of  '  si  puo,'  from  the  verb  '  potere.' 


26  Favole. 

[The  next  group  most  prolific  in  variety  of  incidents  is  that 
in  which  the  stepmother  represents  the  evil  genius  of  the  story  ; 
sometimes  there  is  a  daughter  only,  sometimes  a  daughter  and 
a  son,  and  sometimes,  but  less  frequent,  a  son  only.  Allied  to  it 
is  that  in  which  the  character  devolves  on  two  elder  sisters,  not 
specified  to  be  stepsisters,  and  the  incidents  in  these  two  branches 
are  closely  interwoven.  I  give  the  first  place  to  Cinderella,  be- 
cause it  has  acquired  a  homely  importance.] 


LA    CEXORIENTOLA.I 

THEY  say  there  was  a  merchant  who  had  three  daughters. 
When  he  went  out  into  foreign  countries  to  buy  wares  he 
told  them  he  would  bring  them  rare  presents  whatever 
they  might  ask  for.  The  eldest  asked  for  precious  jewels, 
the  second  for  rich  shawls,  but  the  youngest  who  was 
always  kept  out  of  sight  in  the  kitchen  by  the  others,  and 
made  to  do  the  dirty  work  of  the  house,  asked  only  for  a 
little  bird. 

«  So  you  want  a  little  bird,  do  you !  What  is  the  use 
of  a  little  bird  to  you  ! '  said  the  sisters  mocking  her,  and 
'  Papa  will  have  something  else  to  think  of  than  minding 
little  birds  on  a  long  journey.' 

'  But  you  will  bring  me  a  little  bird,  won't  you,  papa  ? ' 
pleaded  the  little  girl ; '  and  I  can  tell  you  that  if  you  don't 
the  boat  you  are  on  will  stand  still,  and  will  neither  move 
backwards  nor  forwards.' 

The  merchant  went  away  into  a  far  country  and  bought 
precious  wares,  but  he  forgot  all  about  the  little  bird.  It 
was  only  when  he  had  got  on  board  a  boat  to  go  down  a 
mighty  river  on  his  homeward  way,  and  the  captain  found 
the  boat  would  not  move  by  any  means,  that  he  remem- 
bered what  his  daughter  had  said  to  him.  Then  while  the 
captain  was  wondering  how  it  was  the  boat  would  not 
move,  he  went  to  him  and  told  him  what  he  had  dont. 
But  the  captain  said,  'That  is  easily  set  right.  Here 


La  Cenorientola, 


27 


close  by  is  a  garden  full  of  thousands  of  birds ;  you  can 
easily  creep  in  and  carry  off  one.  One,  will  never  be 
missed  among  so  many  thousands.' 

The  merchant  followed  his  directions  and  went  into 
the  garden  where  there  were  so  many  thousand  birds  that 
he  easily  caught  one.  The  captain  gave  him  a  cage,  and 
he  brought  it  safely  home  and  gave  it  to  his  daughter. 

That  night  the  elder  sisters  said  as  usual,  '  We  are 
going  to  the  ball ;  you  will  stay  at  home  and  sweep  up  the 
place  and  mind  the  fire.' 

Now  all  the  birds  in  the  garden  which  the  captain  had 
pointed  out  to  the  merchant  were  fairies  ;  so  when  the 
others  were  gone  to  the  ball  and  the  youngest  daughter 
went  into  her  room  to  her  bird,  she  said  to  it : 
Give  me  splendid  raiment, 
And  I  will  give  you  my  rags.2 

Immediately,  the  bird  gave  her  the  most  beautiful  suit  of 
clothes,  with  jewels  and  golden  slippers,  and  a  splendid 
carriage  and  prancing  horses.  With  these  the  maiden  went 
to  the  ball  which  was  at  the  king's  palace.  The  moment 
the  king  saw  her  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  would 
dance  with  no  one  else.  The  sisters  were  furious  with  the 
stranger  because  the  king  danced  all  night  with  her  and 
not  with  them,  but  they  had  no  idea  it  was  their  sister. 

The  second  night  she  did  the  same,  only  the  bird  gave 
her  a  yet  more  beautiful  dress,  and  the  king  did  all  he 
could  to  find  out  who  she  was,  but  she  would  not  tell  him. 
Then  he  asked  her  name  and  she  said, — 

'  They  call  me  Cenorientola.'' 

'  CenorientolaJ  said  the  king ;  '  what  a  pretty  name  ! 
I  never  heard  it  before.' 

He  had  also  told  the  servants  that  they  must  run  after 
her  carriage  and  see  where  it  went ;  but  though  they  ran 
as  fast  as  the  wind  they  could  not  come  near  the  pace  of 
her  horses. 

The  third  night  the  sisters  went  to  the  ball  and  left 


28  Favole. 

her  at  home,  and  she  staid  at  home  with  her  little  bird 
and  said  to  it, — 

Give  me  splendid  raiment, 
And  I  will  give  you  my  rags.* 

Then  the  bird  gave  her  a  more  splendid  suit  still,  and  the 
king  paid  her  as  much  attention  as  ever.  But  to  the 
servants  he  had  said,  '  If  you  don't  follow  fast  enough  to- 
night to  see  where  she  lives  I  will  have  all  your  heads  cut 
off.'  So  they  used  such  extra  diligence  that  she  in  her 
hurry  to  get  away  dropped  one  of  her  golden  slippers  ; 
this  the  servants  picked  up  and  brought  to  the  king. 

The  next  day  the  king  sent  a  servant  into  every  house 
in  the  city  till  he  should  find  her  whom  the  golden  slipper 
fitted,  but  there  was  not  one  ;  last  of  all  he  came  to  the 
merchant's  house,  and  he  tried  it  on  the  two  elder  daughters 
and  it  would  fit  neither.  Then  he  said, — 

4  There  must  be  some  other  maiden  in  this  house ; '  but 
they  only  shrugged  their  shoulders.  *  It  is  impossible ; 
another  maiden  there  must  be,  for  every  maiden  in  the  city 
we  have  seen  and  the  slipper  fits  none,  therefore  one  there 
must  be  here.' 

Then  they  said, — 

'  In  truth  we  have  a  little  sister  who  sits  in  the  kitchen 
and  does  the  work.  She  is  called  Cenorientola,  because 
she  is  always  smutty.  We  are  sure  she  never  went  to  a 
ball,  and  it  would  only  soil  the  beautiful  gold  slipper  to 
let  her  put  her  smutty  feet  into  it.' 

'  It  may  be  so,'  replied  the  king's  servant,  '  but  we 
must  try,  nevertheless.' 

So  they  fetched  her,  and  the  king's  servant  found  that 
the  shoe  fitted  her  ;  and  they  went  and  told  the  king  all. 

The  moment  the  king  heard  them  say  Cenonentola 
he  said, — '  That  is  she  !  It  is  the  name  she  gave  me.' 

So  he  sent  a  carriage  to  fetch  her  in  all  haste.  The 
bird  meantime  had  given  her  a  more  beautiful  dress  than 
any  she  had  had  before,  and  priceless  jewels,  so  that  when 
they  came  to  fetch  her  she  looked  quite  fit  to  be  a  queen. 


La  Cenorientola.  29 

Then  the  king  married  her ;  and  though  her  sisters  had 
behaved  so  ill  to  her  she  gave  them  two  fine  estates,  so 
that  all  were  content. 

1  '  Cinderella '  is  a  favourite  in  all  countries,  with  its  promise  of  com- 
pensation to  the  desolate  and  oppressed.     I   only  came   across   it  once, 
however,  -while  making  this  collection,  in  its  own  simple  form,  and  with  a 
name  as  near  its  own  as  Cenorientola.     Of  course  the  construction  of  such 
words  is  quite  arbitrary,  and  any  Italian  can  make  a  dozen  such  out  of  any 
name  or  word :  even  in  the  dictionary  the  following  variations  are  to  be  • 
found — '  Cenericcio,'  '  Cenerognolo,'  '  Cenerino,'  '  Ceneroso,'  '  Cenerugiolo.' 

2  Da  mi  tu  panni  belli, 
Ed  io  te  do  i  cencirelli. 

3  Da  mi  tu  abiti  belli 

Ed  io  te  do  i  stracciarelli. 

The  same  as  above  :  '  abiti '  and  '  panni '  are  convertible,  so  are  '  cenci 
and  '  straccj.' 

[The  counterparts  to  the  story  are  endless.  In  Grimm's 
'  Aschenputtel '  (p.  93),  the  nominal  German  counterpart,  there 
is  a  stepmother  as  well  as  two  sisters,  and  the  story  turns  upon 
the  gifts  each  daughter  craves  of  the  father,  an  episode  which 
occurs  in  Roman  versions  with  different  titles.  His  '  Die  drei 
Mannlein  im  Walde'  ('Three  Little  Men  in  the  Wood')  is  like  it, 
and  the  other  versions  too,  and  the  episode  in  it  of  the  good 
daughter  receiving  the  faculty  of  dropping  a  gold  coin  from  her 
mouth  at  every  word  she  utters,  is  like  a  Hungarian  story,  in 
which  no  stepmother  figures,  but  the  evil  genius  of  the  story  (the 
Lady-in- Waiting)  is  plainly  called  a  witch.  In  this  story  it  is  a 
princess,  from  whose  footsteps  rise  gold  pieces,  her  tears  are 
pearls,  and  her  smiles  rosebuds.  In  one  of  the  Siddhi  Kiir 
Stories  which  I  have  translated  as  '  Sagas  from  the  far  East '  (p. 
49)  is  a  similar  incident,  and  a  Spanish  equivalent  in  Note  3. 
A  friend  of  mine  met  with  a  very  similar  legend  in  a  convent  at 
Quito,  concerning  a  nun  called '  the  Eose  of  Quito,'  out  of  whose 
grave  a  rose-tree  is  said  to  have  sprung  and  blossomed  on  the 
morrow  of  her  burial.  It  seems,  however,  to  have  an  indepen- 
dent origin,  as  'the  Eose  of  Quito'  died  within  the  last  150  years. 
In  the  Tirolean  '  Klein-Else,'  or  '  Aschenpfodl,'  to  which  allusion 
has  already  been  made,  and  which  answers  to  it  in  name,  we 
haA-e  a  connexion  with  the  last  group  (as  in  some  of  the  suc- 
ceeding Eoman  versions)  in  the  sun,  moon,  and  star  dresses. 
Among  the  Tales  of  Italian  Tirol  we  find  it  as  Zendrarola,  and 


3O  Favole. 

•with  a  good  deal  of  variation  from  any  other  form  I  have  met. 
The  story  opens  with  a  dying  father  as  in  the  North  Tirolean 
'  Klein-Else,'  but  it  is  only  a  rich  man,  not  a  warrior-baron,  and 
he  has  three  daughters  instead  of  one.  He  bids  them  choose 
what  gifts  he  shall  bestow  on  them  before  he  dies,  and  the 
eldest  asks  for  a  pair  of  earrings ;  the  second  for  a  dress  ;  and 
the  youngest  for  his  magic  sword,  which  gives  whatever  the 
possessor  wishes  for.  The  story  is  singular  in  this,  that  the 
elder  sisters  seem  to  have  no  spite.  The  father  does  not  die  ; 
but,  notwithstanding  his  recovery,  he  has  nothing  more  to  do 
with  the  story  further  than  to  give  an  unwilling  consent  that  the 
youngest  daughter,  though  his  favourite,  shall  go  forth  with  her 
sword  and  roam  the  world  till  she  finds  a  husband.  She  only 
takes  service  in  a  large  house  in  a  big  town,  however ;  but  there 
falls  in  love  with  a  melancholy  youth,  son  of  a  count,  who  lives 
opposite.  For  the  sake  of  being  nearer  him,  she  obtains  the 
place  of  kitchen-maid  in  his  palace,  and  thus  acquires  her  title  of 
Zendrarola  in  a  very  different  way  from  her  counterparts  in 
other  lands.  One  day  she  hears  he  is  going  to  a  ball,  and  she 
makes  her  wishing-sword  give  her  a  dress  like  the  sky ;  and  the 
young  Count,  who  has  never  admired  anyone  before,  of  course 
falls  in  love  with  her.  When  he  comes  back,  he  confides  to  his 
lady  mother  what  has  occurred,  and  Zendrarola,  now  again 
dressed  as  a  dirty  drudge,  interposes  that  the  fair  one  he  was  ex- 
tolling was  not  prettier  than  herself.  He  silences  her  indignantly 
by  giving  her  a  poke  with  the  shovel,  and  when  she  meets  him 
next  night  in  some  beautiful  attire,  and  he  asks  her  where  she 
comes  from,  she  answers  '  dalla  palettada  '  (from  shovel-blow). 
The  next  day  the  same  thing  happens,  and  he  gives  her  a  blow 
with  the  tongs,  and  when  he  asks  her  in  the  evening  what  her 
country  is,  she  answers  '  majettada  '  (tongs-blow)  ;  answering  to 
Frustinaia  and  Stivalaia  in  the  second  Roman  version  of '  Maria 
di  Legno.'  He  gives  her  a  ring,  which  she  sends  up  in  his  broth, 
as  Klein-Else  does  in  the  pancake,  and  so  he  recognises  and 
marries  her.  In  one  or  two  of  the  Eoman  versions  also,  the 
means  of  recognition  is  a  ring  in  place  of  a  slipper. 

I  do  not  remember  any  Cinderella  among  the  Russian  Tales, 
though  there  are  stepmother  stories,  which  pair  off  with  others  of 
the  Roman.  For  Scotch  versions  I  must  refer  the  reader  to 
Campbell's  '  Highland  Tales,'  i.  226,  and  ii.  292.] 


Vaccarella.  3 1 


VACCARELLA.1 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  husband  and  a  wife ;  but  I 
don't  mean  that  they  were  husband  and  wife  of  each  other. 
The  husband  had  lost  his  wife,  and  the  wife  had  lost  her 
husband,  and  each  had  one  little  daughter.  The  husband 
sent  his  daughter  to  the  wife  to  be  brought  up  along  with 
her  own  daughter,  and  as  the  girl  came  every  morning  to 
be  trained  and  instructed,  the  wife  used  to  send  a  message 
back  by  her  every  evening,  saying,  '  Why  doesn't  your 
father  marry  me  ?  then  we  should  all  live  together,  and 
you  would  no  longer  have  this  weary  walk  to  take.' 

The  father,  however,  did  not  see  it  in  the  same  light ; 
but  the  teacher2  continued  sending  the  same  message. 
In  short,3  at  last  she  carried  her  point,  having  previously 
given  a  solemn  promise  to  him  that  Maria,  his  little  girl, 
should  be  always  as  tenderly  treated  as  her  own. 

Not  many  months  elapsed,  however,  before  she  began 
to  show  herself  a  true  stepmother.  After  treating  Maria 
with  every  kind  of  harshness,  she  at  last  sent  her  out  into 
the  Campagna  to  tend  the  cow,  so  as  to  keep  her  out  of 
sight  of  her  father,  and  estrange  him  from  her.  Maria 
had  to  keep  the  cow's  stall  clean  with  fresh  litter  every 
day ;  sometimes  she  had  to  take  the  cow  out  to  grass,  and 
watch  that  it  only  grazed  over  the  right  piece  of  land  ;  at 
other  times  she  had  to  go  out  and  cut  grass  for  the  cow 
to  eat.  All  this  was  work  enough  for  one  so  young ;  but 
Maria  was  a  kind-hearted  girl,  and  grew  fond  of  her  cow, 
so  that  it  became  a  pleasure  to  her  to  attend  to  it. 

When  the  cruel  stepmother  saw  this  she  was  annoyed 
to  find  her  so  light-hearted  over  her  work,  and  to  vex  her 
more  gave  her  a  great  heap  of  hemp  to  spin.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Maria  reminded  her  she  had  never  been  taught 
to  spin  ;  the  only  answer  she  got  was,  '  If  you  don't  bring 
it  home  with  you  to-night  all  properly  spun  you  will  be 


3  2  Favole. 

finely  punished  ; '  and  Maria  knew  to  her  cost  what  that 
meant. 

When  Maria  went  out  into  the  Campagna  that  day 
she  was  no  longer  light-hearted ;  and  as  she  littered  down 
the  stall  she  stroked  the  cow  fondly,  and  said  to  her,  as 
she  had  no  one  else  to  complain  to,  '  Vaccarella !  Vacca- 
rella !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  have  got  all  this  hemp  to  spin, 
and  I  never  learnt  spinning.  Yet  if  I  don't  get  through 
it  somehow  I  shall  get  sadly  beaten  to-night.  Dear  little 
cow,  tell  me  what  to  do ! ' 

But  the  cow  was  an  enchanted  cow,4  and  when  she 
heard  Maria  cry  she  turned  round  and  said  quickly  and 
positively : — 

Throw  it  on  to  the  horns  of  me, 
And  go  along,  cut  grass  for  me !  s 

Maria  did  as  she  was  told,  went  out  and  cut  a  good 
basketful  of  grass,  and  imagine  her  delight  on  coming 
back  with  it  to  find  all  the  whole  lot  of  hemp  beautifully 
spun. 

The  surprise  of  the  stepmother  was  still  greater  than 
hers,  at  finding  that  she  had  got  through  her  task  so  easily, 
for  she  had  given  her  enough  to  have  occupied  an  ordinary 
person  a  week.  Next  day,  therefore,  she  determined  to 
vex  her  with  a  more  difficult  task,  and  gave  her  a  quantity 
of  spun  hemp 6  to  weave  into  a  piece  of  fine  cloth.  Maria's 
pleadings  were  as  fruitless  as  before,  and  once  more  she 
went  to  tell  her  tale  of  woe  to  her  i  dear  little  cow.' 

Vaccarella  readily  gave  the  same  answer  as  before : — 

Throw  it  on  to  the  horns  of  me, 
And  go  along,  cut  grass  for  me ! 

Once  more,  when  Maria  came  back  with  her  basket  of 
grass,  she  found  all  her  work  done,  to  her  great  surprise 
and  delight.  But  her  stepmother's  surprise  was  quite  of 
another  order.  That  Maria  should  have  woven  the  cloth, 
not  only  without  instruction,  but  even  without  a  loom, 


Vaccarella.  33 

proved  clearly  enough  she  must  have  had  some  one  to  help 
her — a  matter  which  roused  the  stepmother's  jealousy  in 
the  highest  degree,  and  wherein  this  help  consisted  she 
determined  to  find  out.  Accordingly,  next  day  she  gave 
her  a  shirt  to  make  up,  and  then  posted  herself  out  of 
sight  in  a  corner  of  the  cow-house  to  see  what  happened. 
Thus  she  overheard  Maria's  complaint  to  her  dear  little 
cow,  and  Vaccarella's  reply  : — 

Throw  it  on  to  the  horns  of  me, 
And  go  along,  cut  grass  for  me  ! 

She  thus  also  saw,  what  Maria  did  not  see,  that  as 
soon  as  she  had  gone  out  the  cow  assumed  the  form  of  a 
woman,  and  sat  down  and  stitched  and  stitched  away  till 
the  shirt  was  made,  and  that  in  a  surprisingly  short  space 
of  time.  As  soon  as  it  was  finished,  and  before  Maria 
came  in,  the  woman  became  a  cow  again. 

The  cruel  stepmother  determined  that  Maria  should 
be  deprived  of  a  friend  who  enabled  her  to  set  all  her  hard 
treatment  at  defiance,  and  next  morning  told  her  that  she 
was  going  to  kill  the  cow.  Maria  was  broken-hearted  at 
the  announcement,  but  she  knew  it  was  useless  to  remon- 
strate ;  so  she  only  used  her  greatest  speed  to  reach  her 
'  dear  little  cow,'  and  warn  her  of  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen in  time  to  make  her  escape. 

4  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  escape,'  replied  Vaccarella  ; 
'  killing  will  not  hurt  me.  So  dry  your  tears,  and  don't 
be  distressed.  Only,  after  they  have  killed  me,  put  your 
hand  under  my  heart,  and  there  you  will  find  a  golden 
ball.  This  ball  is  yours,  so  take  it  out,  and  whenever 
you  are  tired  of  your  present  kind  of  life,  you  have  only 
to  say  to  it  on  some  fitting  occasion — "  Grolden  ball, 
golden  ball,  dress  me  in  gold  and  give  me  a  lover,"  7  and 
you  shall  see  what  shall  happen.' 

Vaccarella  had  no  time  to  say  more,  for  the  stepmother 
arrived  just  then  with  a  man  who  slaughtered  the  cow  at 
her  order. 


34  Favole. 

Under  Vaccarella's  heart  Maria  found  the  promised 
golden  ball,  which  she  hid  away  carefully  against  some 
fitting  occasion  for  using  it  arose. 

Not  long  after  there  was  a  novena*  of  a  great  festival, 
during  which  Maria's  stepmother,  with  all  her  disposition 
to  overwork  her,  durst  not  keep  her  from  church,  lest  the 
neighbours  should  cry  «  Shame  ! '  on  her. 

Maria  accordingly  went  to  church  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  people,  and  when  she  had  made  her  way  through  the 
crowd  to  a  little  distance  from  her  stepmother,  she  took 
her  golden  ball  out  of  her  pocket  and  whispered  to  it — 
*  Golden  ball,  golden  ball,  dress  me  in  gold  and  give  me 
a  lover.' 

Instantly  the  golden  ball  burst  gently  open  and  enve- 
loped her,  and  she  came  out  of  it  all  radiant  with  beautiful 
clothing,  like  a  princess.  Everybody  made  way  for  her  in 
her  astonishing  brightness. 

The  eyes  of  the  king's  son  were  turned  upon  her,  no 
less  than  the  eyes  of  all  the  people  ;  and  the  prayers  were 
no  sooner  over  than  he  sent  some  of  his  attendants  to  call 
her  and  bring  her  to  him.  Before  they  could  reach  her, 
however,  Maria  had  restored  her  beautiful  raiment  to  the 
golden  ball,  and,  in  the  sordid  attire  in  which  her  step- 
mother dressed  her,  she  could  easily  pass  through  the 
crowd  unperceived. 

At  home,  her  stepmother  could  not  forbear  talking, 
like  everyone  else  in  the  town,  about  the  maiden  in 
glittering  raiment  who  had  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the 
church  ;  but,  of  course,  without  the  remotest  suspicion  that 
it  was  Maria  herself.  But  Maria  sat  still  and  said  nothing. 

So  it  happened  each  day  of  the  Novena ;  for,  though 
Maria  was  not  at  all  displeased  with  the  appearance  and 
fame  of  the  husband  whom  her  '  dear  little  cow '  seemed  to 
have  appointed  for  her,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  too  easy  a 
prize,  and  thought  it  but  right  to  make  him  take  a  little 
trouble  to  win  her.  Thus  she  every  day  restored  all  her 


Vaccarella.  35 

bright  clothing  to  the  golden  ball  before  the  prince's  men 
could  overtake  her.  Only  on  the  last  day  of  the  Novena, 
when  the  prince,  fearful  lest  it  might  also  be  the  last  on 
which  he  would  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her,  had  told 
them  to  use  extra  diligence,  they  were  so  near  overtaking  her 
that,  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  she  dropped  a  slipper.9 
This  the  prince's  men  eagerly  seized,  feeling  no  compunc- 
tion in  wresting  it  from  the  mean-looking  wench  (so 
Maria  now  looked)  who  disputed  possession  of  it  with 
them,  not  in  the  least  imagining  that  she  could  be  the 
radiant  being  of  whom  they  were  in  search. 

The  Novena  over,  Maria  once  more  returned  to  her 
ceaseless  toil ;  but  the  stepmother's  hatred  had  grown  so 
great  that  she  determined  to  rid  herself  of  her  altogether 
and  in  the  most  cruel  way. 

Down  in  the  cellar  there  stood  a  large  barrel,10  which 
had  grown  dirty  and  moaldy  from  neglect,  and  wanted 
scalding  out.  '  Get  into  the  barrel,  Maria  girl,'  she  bid 
her  next  morning  for  her  task,  '  and  scrape  it  and  rub  it 
well  before  we  scald  it.' 

Maria  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  the  stepmother  went 
away  to  boil  the  water. 

Meantime,  the  prince's  men  had  taken  Maria's  slipper 
to  him,  and  he,  delighted  to  have  any  token  of  his  fair 
one,  appointed  an  officer  to  go  into  every  house,  and  pro- 
claim that  the  maiden  whom  the  slipper  might  fit  should 
be  his  bride.  The  officer  went  round  from  house  to 
house,  trying  the  slipper  on  everybody's  foot.  But  it 
fitted  no  one,  for  it  was  under  a  spell. 

But  the  stepmother's  own  daughter11  had  gone  down  to 
the  cellar  to  help  Maria,  unbeknown  to  her  mother ;  and 
it  so  happened  that,  just  as  she  was  inside  the  barrel  and 
Maria  outside,  the  king's  officer  happened  to  come  by 
that  way.  He  opened  the  door,12  and,  seeing  a  damsel 
standing  within,  tried  on  the  sandal  without  waiting  to 
ask  leave.  As  the  sandal  fitted  Maria  to  perfection,  the 
D  2 


36  Favole. 

officer  was  all  impatience  to  carry  her  off  to  the  prince, 
and  placed  her  in  the  carriage  which  was  waiting  outside, 
and  drove  off  with  her  before  anyone  had  even  observed 
his  entrance. 

Scarcely  had  all  this  passed  than  the  stepmother  came 
back,  with  her  servants,  each  carrying  a  can  of  boiling 
water.  They  placed  themselves  in  a  ring  round  the  barrel, 
and  each  emptied  her  charge  into  it.  As  it  was  the  step- 
mother's daughter  who  was  inside  at  the  time,  instead  of 
Maria,  it  was  she  who  got  scalded  to  death  in  her  place. 

By-and-by,  when  the  house  was  quiet,  the  bad  step- 
mother went  to  the  barrel,  intending  to  take  out  the  body 
of  Maria  and  hide  it.  What  was  her  dismay  when  she 
found,  instead  of  Maria's  body,  that  of  her  own  daughter  ! 
As  soon  as  her  distress  and  grief  subsided  sufficiently  to 
enable  her  to  consider  what  she  had  to  do,  the  idea  sug- 
gested itself  to  conceal  the  murder  by  putting  the  blame 
of  it  on  some  one  else.  For  this  purpose  she  took  the 
body  of  her  daughter,  and,  dressing  it  in  dry  clothes,  seated 
it  on  the  top  of  the  stairs  against  her  husband's  return.13 

Presently,  home  he  came  with  his  ass-load  of  wood, 
and  called  to  her  daughter  to  come  and  help  him  unload 
it,  as  usual'.  But  the  daughter  continued  sitting  on  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  and  moved  not.  Again  and  again  he 
called,  louder  and  louder,  but  still  she  moved  not ;  till  at 
last,  irritated  beyond  all  endurance,  he  hurled  one  of  his 
logs  of  wood  at  her,  which  brought  the  badly-balanced 
corpse  rolling  and  tumbling  all  the  way  down  the  stairs, 
just  as  the  stepmother  had  designed. 

The  husband,  however,  was  far  from  being  deceived  by 
the  device.  He  could  see  the  body  presented  no  appear- 
ance of  dying  from  a  recent  fall. 

'  Where's  Maria  ?  '  he  asked,  as  soon  as  he  got  up  into 
the  room. 

'  Nobody  knows ;  she  has  disappeared ! '  replied  the 
stepmother  ;  nor  was  he  slow  to  convince  himself  she  was 
nowhere  in  the  house. 


Vaccarella,  3  7 

'  This  is  no  place  for  me  to  stay  in,'  said  the  husband 
to  himself.  '  One  child  driven  away,  and  one  murdered  ; 
who  can  say  what  may  happen  next  ? ' 

Next  morning,  therefore,  he  called  to  him  the  little 
daughter  born  to  him  since  his  marriage  with  Maria's 
stepmother,  and  went  away  with  her  for  good  and  all.  So 
that  bad  woman  was  deprived,  as  she  deserved,  of  her 
husband  and  all  her  children  in  one  day. 

Just  as  the  father  and  his  daughter  were  starting  to 
go  away,  Maria  drove  by  in  a  gilded  coach  with  the  prince 
her  husband ;  so  he  had  the  satisfaction,  and  her  step- 
mother the  vexation,  of  seeing  her  triumph. 

1  '  Vaccarella,'  '  dear  little  cow,'  '  good  little  cow.'     The  endearment  -is 
expressed  in  the  form  of  the  diminutive. 

2  '  Maestra.' 

3  '  Basta,'  '  enough,'  '  to  cut  a  long  story  short.' 

4  '  Fatata.' 

Butta  sopr'  alle  corna  a  me, 
E  vatene  far  1'erba  per  me. 

'  Corno '  is  one  of  the  words  which  (as  '  muro,'   '  novo,'  '  braccio,'  '  dito,' 
&c.),  masculine  in  the  singular,  have  a  feminine  plural. 

6  '  Carrevale,'  or  '  correvale ' — I  could  not  very  well  distinguish  which, 
and  do  not  know  the  word.     The  narrator  explained  it  as  Ike  '  canapa ' — 
hemp,  only  finer.    '  Eefe '  is  used  in  the  same  sense  in  Tuscany. 

7  Pallo  dorato  !     Pallo  dorato  ! 
Vestimi  d'oro  e  dammi  1'innamorato. 

'  Dorato '  is  used  for  '  golden  '  as  well  as  for  '  gilt.'  The  change 
from  '  palla,'  a  ball,  to  '  pallo '  is  a  very  considerable  license,  for  the  sake 
of  making  it  rime  with  '  innamorato ; '  though  some  words  admit  of  being 
spelt  either  way,  as  '  mattino '  or  '  mattina,'  '  botto  '  or  '  botta '  (a  blow), 
and  others  can  be  used  with  either  gender  without  alteration,  as  '  polvere,' 
1  have  never  met  with  '  pallo '  elsewhere,  though  it  is  one  of  the  words 
which  take  a  masculine  augmentative  ('pallone'). 

8  '  Novena,'  a  short  service,  with  or  without  a  sermon,  said  for  nine 
days  before  some  great  festival,  in  preparation  for  it. 

9  '  Pianella,'  a  sandal,  or  slipper  without  a  heel.     '  In  those  days  they 
used  to  wear  such  things  instead  of  shoes,'  commented  the  old  lady  as  she 
told  the  tale. 

10  '  Botte,'  a  very  large  wine-barrel  of  a  certain  measure. 

11  Here  called  '  buona  figlia,'  '  good  daughter.'     There  did  not  seem  any 
reason  for  this  designation.     Possibly  the  narrator   had   forgotten  some 
incident  of  the  story,  introducing  it. 

83825 


38  Favole. 

12  That  the  cellar  should  be,  as  thus  appears,  on  the  ground-floor,  is 
very  characteristic  of  Rome,  though  there  are,  of  course,  plenty  of  under- 
ground cellars  too ;  but  the  one  is  properly  '  cantino '  and  '  canova,'  and  the 
other  '  grottino.'  The  distinction  is,  however,  not  very  rigidly  observed  in 
common  parlance.  To  have  un  underground  cellar  is  so  far  a  specialite, 
that  it  has  been  taken  to  be  a  sufficiently  distinctive  attribute  to  supply  the 
sign  or  title  to  those  inns  which  possess  it.  Rufini  gives  examples  of  above 
•A  dozen  thus  called  '  Del  Grottino.' 

13  The  ground-floor  being  used  as  a  cellar,  the  family  lives  upstairs. 
This  is  a  very  common  arrangement. 

[The  introduction  of  the  wonder-working  cow  in  this  second 
version  of  the  story  of  Cinderella  cannot  fail  to  suggest  the  idea 
that  it  may  find  its  prototype  in  Sabala,  the  heavenly  cow  of  the 
Kamayana.1 

I  have  another  Stepmother  story,  the  place  of  which  is  here, 
but  it  is  too  long  to  give  in  its  entirety.  It  begins  like  the  last, 
and  the  next,  and  many  others,  with  a  widower,  the  teacher  of 
whose  children,  a  boy  and  girl,  insists  on  marrying  him.  Soon 
after,  of  course,  she  turns  the  children  out  of  doors;  the  boy  is 
made  the  slave  of  a  witch,  and  comes  well  at  last  out  of  many  ad- 
ventures ;  it  is  one  of  the  nearest  approaches  to  a  heroic  story 
that  I  have  met  with  in  Rome.  There  are  details  in  it,  however, 
like  Filagranata  and  others,  not  actually  of  the  Stepmother  group. 
The  girl  gets  taken  into  a  Brigand's  cave,  and  goes  through  ad- 
ventures which  befall  the  youngest  of  three  sisters  (without  a  step- 
mother) in  the  Italian-Tirolese  tale  of  '  Le  tre  Sorelle,'  and  that, 
again,  is  precisely  like  another  Roman  story  I  have,  in  many  re- 
spects different  from  the  present  one,  called  '  The  Three  Windows.' 
One  of  the  adventures  in  the  present  story  is,  that  the  witch, 
instead  of  killing  the  girl,  gives  her  the  appearance  of  death,  and 
she  is  shut  up  in  a  box  instead  of  being  regularly  buried,  and  a 
prince,  as  he  goes  by  hunting,  finds  her,  and  the  means  of  restoring 

1  The  reader  who  has  not  access  to  a  better  rendering  of  this  beautiful 
legend  will  find  one  I  have  given  from  Bopp,  in  '  Sagas  from  the  Far  East,' 
pp.  402-3  ;  but  Mr.  Ralston  gives  us  a  Russian  version,  in  which  a  doll  or 
puppet  is  the  agent  instead  of  the  cow  (pp.  150— 9).  It  is  true, on  the  other 
band,  that  he  has  (p.  115)  another  rather  different  story,  in  which  a  cow 
also  gives  good  gifts  ;  and  mentions  others  at  p.  260.  In  a  story  of  the 
Italian  Tirol,  '  Le  due  Sorelle,'  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  notice  later, 
a  cow  has  also  a  supernatural  part  to  play,  somewhat  like  that  of  Vacca- 
rella ;  only  there  ahe  acts  at  the  bidding  of  a  fairy,  not  of  her  own 
motion. 


Vaccarella.  39 

her,  and  marries  her.  This  is  a  very  common  incident  in  another 
group,  and  occurs  in  the  '  Siddhi  Kiir '  story  which  I  have  given 
as  '  The  Prayer  making  suddenly  Rich,'  in  '  Sagas  from  the  Far 
East ;  '  and  in  the  third  version  of  '  Maria  deLegno,  infra,  where 
also  the  girl  is  not  even  seemingly  dead.  I  cannot  forbear  sub- 
joining a  quaint  version  of  the  story  of  Joseph,  which  was  told 
me,  embodying  the  same  incident,  though  the  story  of  Joseph 
has  usually  been  identified  with  the  group  in  which  a  younger 
brother  is  the  hero  ;  by  Dr.  Dasent,  among  others,  who  gives  seve- 
ral examples,  under  the  name  of  '  Boots.'  In  the  Roman  series 
this  group  is  represented  by  '  Scioccolone.'} 


GIUSEPPE  L'EBREO. 

'Do  you  know  the  story  of  Giuseppe  1'Ebreo?' 

'  Not  by  that  name.  Tell  it  me,  and  I'll  tell  you  if  I've  heard  it 
before.' 

'  There  was  once  a  moglie  e  marito  who  had  seven  sons.' 

'  Oh,  do  you  mean  the  Machabees  ? ' 

'  No.  I  don't  think  they  were  called  Machabees — I  don't  know.  But 
the  youngest  of  the  seven  was  called  Joseph,  and  he  was  his  father's 
Benjamin,  and  that  made  the  others  jealous  of  him.  They  used  to  go 
out  in  the  Campagna  together  to  feed  the  flocks,  for  in  those  days  all  were 
shepherds  ;  and  when  the  others  had  Joseph  out  there  all  alone  they  said, 
"  Let  us  kill  him  ;  "  and  they  were  going  to  kill  him  ;  but  one  said,  "  No, 
we  must  not  kill  him  :  we  will  put  him  down  a  well ;"  and  so  they  did. 

'  The  next  day  it  happened  that  a  great  king  went  by  hunting,  and  as 
his  dogs  passed  the  well  where  Joseph  was  they  scented  human  blood  and 
made  a  great  barking,  and  the  king  said, "  See  what  the  dogs  have  found." 
So  they  took  the  stone  from  the  mouth  of  the  well  and  let  a  cord -down, 
and  behold  a  beautiful  boy  came  up — for  Joseph  was  a  beautiful  boy — 
and  he  pleased  the  king,  and  he  took  him  home  and  kept  him  as  a 
precious  jewel,  he  was  so  fair.  So  handsome  was  he,  that  the  Queen 
fell  in  love  with  him ;  and  when  he  wouldn't  listen  to  her  she  accused  him 
of  having  insulted  her,  and  had  him  put  into  prison. 

'  After  that  the  King  had  a  strange  dream  :  he  saw  three  lean  cows  and 
three  fat  cows;  and  he  saw  the  three  lean  cows  eat  up  the  three  fat  cows ; 
and  he  sent  for  all  the  theologians  in  the  country,  and  none  of  them  couid 
tell  what  the  dream  meant ;  but  Joseph  said,  "  I  can  tell  what  the  dream 
means."  .  .  .  The  rest  as  in  the  Bible.' 

[Dr.  Dasent  gives  one  Norse  story  of  a  stepmother,  with  a 
stepson  and  daughter,  which  begins  like  the  one  of  which  I  have 
given  an  abstract,  but  runs  off  into  quite  different  incidents.] 


4O  Favole. 


THE  KING  WHO  GOES  OUT  TO  DINNER.1 

THEY  say  there  was  a  well-to-do  peasant  whose  wife  died 
leaving  him  two  children — a  boy  and  a  girl.  Both  were 
beautiful  children,  but  the  girl  was  of  the  most  inconceiv- 
able beauty. 

As  both  were  still  young,  and  the  father  did  not  know 
how  to  supply  a  mother's  place  to  them,  he  sent  them  to  a 
woman,  who  was  to  teach  them  and  train  them,  and  do  all 
that  a  mother  would  have  done  for  them.  So  to  her 
they  went  every  day.  The  woman,  however,  was  bent  on 
marrying  their  father,  and  used  to  send  a  message  every 
day  to  ask  why  he  did  not  marry  her.  The  father  sent  in 
answer  that  he  did  not  want  to  marry;  but  the  woman 
continued  to  repeat  the  same  message  so  frequently  that, 
wearied  by  her  importunity,  he  sent  an  answer  to  the 
effect  that  when  a  pair  of  strong  woollen  stockings,  which 
he  also  gave  the  children  to  take  to  her,  were  rotted  away 
he  would  marry  her,  and  not  before.  The  woman  took  the 
pair  of  stockings  and  hung  them  up  in  a  loft  and  damped 
them  with  water  twice  a  day  till  they  were  soon  quite 
rotted ;  then  she  showed  them  to  the  children,  and  told 
them  to  tell  their  father  what  they  had  seen.  When  the 
children  went  home  they  said,  'Papa!  we  saw  your  pair  of 
stockings  to-day;  they  are  all  rotted  away.'  But  the 
father  said,  '  Nonsense !  Those  thick  stockings  could  not 
have  rotted  in  this  time  ;  there  must  be  some  unfair  play.' 

The  next  morning  he  gave  them  a  large  pitcher  of 
water,  and  told  them  to  take  it  to  their  teacher,  saying  that 
when  all  the  water  had  dried  up  he  would  marry  her,  and 
not  before.  The  teacher  took  the  children  up  every  day  to 
see  how  rapidly  the  water  diminished  in  the  jug;  but  the 
fact  was  she  used  to  go  first  and  pour  out  a  little  every  day.2 
At  last  she  showed  them  the  pitcher  empty,  and  bid  them 


The  King  who  goes  out  to  Dinner.  4.1 

tell  their  father  that  they  had  seen  it  so.  '  Impossible ! ' 
said  their  father ;  but  when  they  assured  him  they  had 
seen  the  water  in  it  gradually  diminish  day  by  day,  he 
saw  there  was  no  way  of  disputing  the  fact,  and  that 
he  was  bound  by  the  condition  he  himself  had  fixed. 

Accordingly  he  married  the  teacher.  No  sooner, 
however,  was  she  in  possession  of  the  house  than  she  told 
the  father  she  would  not  have  the  children  about  the 
place  ;  they  were  not  her  children,  and  she  could  not  bear 
the  sight  of  them.  The  father  expostulated,  saying  he  had 
no  place  to  send  them  to,  but  the  stepmother  continued 
so  persistently  in  her  representations  that,  for  the  sake  of 
peace,  he  ceased  to  oppose  her,  and  she  took  upon  herself 
the  task  of  disposing  of  them. 

One  day,  therefore,  she  made  them  a  large  cake,3  and 
putting  it  in  a  basket  with  a  bottle  of  wine,  she  took  them 
for  a  walk  outside  the  gates.  When  they  had  gone  a 
long,  Jong  way,  she  proposed  that  they  should  sit  down 
and  lunch  off  their  cake  and  wine.  The  children  were 
nothing  loth  ;  but,  while  they  were  eating,  the  stepmother 
slipped  away  unperceived,  and  left  them  alone,  thinking 
that  they  would  be  lost.  But  the  fact  was  the  boy  had 
overheard  their  father  and  mother  talking  about  getting 
rid  of  them,  and  he  had  provided  himself  with  a  paper 
parcel 4  of  ashes,  and  had  strewn  them  all  along  the  road 
they  had  come,  unperceived  by  his  stepmother,  and  so 
now  by  this  track  they  found  their  way  home  again. 

The  stepmother  was  furious  at  seeing  them  come  back, 
but  she  said  nothing  in  order  not  to  rouse  their  suspicions. 
A  few  days  after,  however,  she  made  another  cake  and 
proposed  to  take  them  another  walk.  The  children  ac- 
companied her  willingly ;  but  the  little  boy  provided 
himself  with  a  parcel  of  millet,  and  strewed  the  grain  on 
the  ground  as  they  walked  along.  They  were  in  no  haste, 
therefore,  to  finish  their  refection.  But,  alas  !  when  they 
came  to  trace  the  track  by  which  they  were  to  return, 


42  Favole. 

there  was  no  means  of  finding  it,  for  the  birds  had  come 
meanwhile  and  eaten  up  all  the  grain.  The  little  girl 
was  appalled  when  she  saw  they  were  lost,  and  sat  down 
to  cry ;  but  the  little  boy  said,  '  Never  mind ;  our  step- 
mother was  very  cross  and  unkind  to  us  ;  perhaps  we  shall 
meet  with  some  one  who  will  behave  better  to  us.  Come, 
let  us  look  for  shelter  before  night  comes  on.'  The  little 
girl  took  courage  at  her  brother's  words,  and,  joining 
hands,  they  walked  on  together.  , 

Before  night  they  came  to  a  little  cottage,  the  only 
one  in  sight ;  so  they  knocked  at  the  door.  '  Who's  there  ? ' 
said  a  voice  within,  and  when  they  answered  '  Friends,'  an 
old  man  opened  the  door.  'Will  you  please  take  us  in 
and  give  us  shelter  for  the  night,  for  our  stepmother  has 
turned  us  out  of  our  home  ?  '  paid  the  little  boy.  '  Come 
in,  and  welcome,'  answered  the  old  man,  '  and  you  shall 
be  my  children.'  So  they  went  in  and  lived  with  him  as 
his  children. 

When  they  had  been  living  there  some  time,  it 
happened  that  one  day  when  the  old  man  and  her  brother 
were  both  out,  the  king  came  by  hunting,  and  he  came 
to  the  hut  and  asked  for  some  water  to  drink.  The  ex- 
traordinary beauty  of  the  maiden  astonished  the  king,  and 
he  asked  her  whence  she  was,  and  so  learnt  all  her  story. 
When  he  went  home  he  told  his  mother,  saying,  '  When  I 
was  out  to-day  I  saw  the  most  beautiful  maiden  that  ever 
was  created.  You  must  come  and  see  her.'  The  queen- 
mother  did  not  like  going  to  the  poor  hut,  but  the  prince 
urged  her  so  much  that  at  last  she  consented  to  accompany 
him.  The  king  drove  out  beforehand  to  the  cottage  and 
gave  notice  that  he  would  like  to  dine  there,  and,  giving 
the  maiden  plenty  of  money,  told  her  to  prepare  the  best 
dinner  that  ever  she  could  for  him  and  the  queen-mother. 
The  maiden  tidied  up  the  cottage  so  neatly,  and  prepared 
the  dinner  so  well,  and  did  the  honours  of  it  so  gracefully, 
that  the  queen-mother  was  won  to  admire  her  as  much  as 


The  King  who  goes  out  to  Dinner.  43 

her  son  had  been,  and  when  the  king  told  her  of  his  inten- 
tion to  make  the  girl  his  wife  she  was  well  pleased.  So 
Albina  (such  was  her  name)  was  married  to  the  king,  and 
her  brother  was  made  viceroy. 

In  the  meantime,  the  stepmother  had  begun  to  wonder 
what  had  become  of  the  children.  But  she  was  a 
witch,  and  had  a  divining  rod  ; 5  this  rod  she  struck,  and 
asked  it  where  the  children  were.  The  answer  came, 
'  The  girl  is  married  to  the  king,  and  the  lad  is  made 
viceroy.' 

When  she  heard  this  she  went  to  her  husband  and  said, 
'  Do  you  know  a  sort  of  remorse  has  taken  me  that  we  let 
those  poor  children  go  we  know  not  whither.  I  am 
resolved  to  put  on  a  pilgrim's  dress  and  go  and  seek  them 
that  I  may  bring  them  home  to  us  again.'  The  father 
was  very  glad  to  hear  her  speak  thus,  and  gave  his  consent 
to  her  taking  the  journey.  The  next  day,  therefore,  she 
put  on  a  pilgrim's  dress  and  went  forth. 

On,  on,  on  she  went  till  she  came  to  the  city  where 
Albina  was  married  to  the  king.  Here  she  took  up  her 
stand  opposite  the  palace  windows,  and  with  her  divining 
rod  she  called  up  a  golden  hen  with  golden  chickens,6  and 
made  them  strut  about  under  the  palace  window.  When 
Queen  Albina  looked  out  and  saw  the  wonderful  brood,  she 
sent  down  at  once  to  call  the  pilgrim-woman  to  her  and 
offered  to  buy  them  of  her.  '  My  hen  and  chickens  I 
neither  sell  nor  pledge,'  answered  the  pretended  pilgrim ; 
'  I  only  part  with  them  at  one  price.' 

'  And  what  is  the  price,  good  pilgrim,  say  ?  '  answered 
the  queen. 

'  My  price  is  that  the  queen  herself  take  me  down  to 
the  palace  garden  and  show  me  the  whale  which  I  know 
there  is  in  the  fish-pond.'  7 

*  That  is  a  condition  easily  accepted,'  answered  Albina. 
'  I  will  take  you  there  at  once,  good  woman.' 

The  queen  and  the  pretended  pilgrim  then  went  down. 


44  Favole. 

together  to  the  pond.  The  pretended  pilgrim  no  sooner 
came  in  sight  of  the  whale  than  she  touched  the  water 
with  her  rod  and  bade  the  whale  swallow  the  queen.  The 
whale  obeyed  the  stroke  of  the  wand  imparted  through 
the  water,  and  the  stepmother  went  up  and  threw  herself 
on  the  queen's  bed.  When  she  had  well  wrapped  her- 
self in  the  coverlets  so  as  to  be  hidden,  she  called  the 
maids  to  her  and  bid  them  tell  the  king  that  the  queen 
was  sick.  The  king  immediately  came  in  all  haste  to 
assure  himself  of  the  state  of  the  queen.  'I  am  ill 
indeed,  very  ill ! '  cried  the  pretended  queen,  groaning 
between  whiles  ;  '  and  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  for  there 
is  only  one  remedy  for  my  malady,  and  that  I  cannot 
take.' 

'  Tell  me  the  one  remedy  at  least,'  said  the  king. 

'  The  one  only  remedy  for  me  is  the  blood  of  the  vice- 
roy, and  that  I  could  not  take.' 

'It  is  a  dreadful  remedy  indeed,'  said  the  king ;  ' but 
if  it  is  the  only  thing  to  save  your  life,  I  must  make  you 
take  it.' 

'  Oh,  no !  I  could  not  take  it ! '  exclaimed  the  pre- 
tended queen,  for  the  sake  of  appearing  genuine. 

But  the  king,  bent  on  saving  her  life  at  any  price, 
sent  and  had  the  viceroy  taken  possession  of  and  secured, 
ready  to  be  slain,8  in  one  of  the  lower  chambers  of  the 
palace.  The  windows  of  this  chamber  looked  out  upon 
the  fish-pond. 

The  viceroy  looked  out  of  the  window  on  to  the  fish- 
pond, and  immediately  there  came  a  voice  up  to  him, 
speaking  out  of  the  whale,  and  saying,  '  Save  me,  my 
brother,  for  here  am  I  imprisoned  in  the  whale,  and 
behold  two  children  are  born  to  me.' 

But  her  brother  could  only  answer,  '  I  can  give  help  to 
none,  for  I  also  am  in  peril  of  death,  being  bound  and 
shut  up  ready  to  be  slain  ! ' 

Then  a  voice  of  lamentation  came  up  from  within  the 


The  King  who  goes  out  to  Dinner.  45 

whale  saying,  *  Woe  is  me  that  my  brother  is  to  be  slain, 
and  I  and  my  children  are  shut  up  in  this  horrible  place ! 
Woe  is  me  ! ' 

Presently,  the  gardener  hearing  these  lamentations, 
went  to  the  king,  saying,  '  0,  king  !  come  down  thyself  and 
hear  the  voice  of  one  that  waileth,  and  the  voice  cometh 
as  from  within  the  whale.' 

The  king  w.ent  down,  and  at  once  recognised  the 
voice  of  the  queen ;  then  he  commanded  that  the  whale 
should  be  ripped  open ;  no  sooner  was  this  done  than  the 
queen  and  her  two  children  were  brought  to  light.  The 
king  embraced  them  all,  and  said, '  Who  then  is  she  that 
is  in  the  queen's  bed  ? '  and  he  commanded  that  she  should 
be  brought  before  him.  When  the  queen  had  seen  her 
she  said,  '  This  is  my  stepmother ;'  and  when  the  pilgrim's 
weeds,  which  she  had  taken  off,  were  also  found,  and  it 
was  shown  that  it  was  she  who  had  worked  all  this  mis- 
chief, the  king  pronounced  that  she  was  a  witch,  and  she 
was  put  to  death,  and  the  viceroy  was  set  at  liberty. 

1  '  II  Re  che  va  a  Pranzo.' 

s  I  am  inclined  to  think  there  was  some  forgetfulness  here  on  the  part 
of  the  narrator ;  such  artifices  always  fulfil  the  conditions  they  evade  in 
some  underhand  way — they  never  set  them  utterly  at  defiance,  as  in  the 
instance  in  the  text.  Such  conditions  also  always  go  in  threes  ;  the  third 
was  probably  forgotten  in  this  instance. 

3  '  Pizza,'  a  cake  made  of  Indian  corn. 

4  '  Cartoccio,'  a  conical  paper  parcel. 

5  '  Bacchettino  da  comando.' 

6  '  Biocca  cogli  polsini  d'oro,'  a  hen  and  chickens  all  of  gold;  'biocca' 
is  a  word  used  by  peasants  for  '  gallina,'  and  '  polsini '  for  '  pollastri.' 

'  'Pescheria,'  ordinarily  'fish-market,'  but  sometimes,  as  in  this  place, 
a  tank  or  piece  of  water  for  preserving  fish  for  table.  That  so  large  a  fish 
as  a  whale  should  be  kept  in  one,  is  only  one  of  the  exaggerations  proper  to 
the  realm  of  fable. 

8  The  very  incident  which  occurs  in  the  stepmother  story  of  '  How  the 
Serpent-gods  were  Propitiated,'  in  '  Sagas  from  the  Far  East.' 

[I  now  come  to  three  stories  more  strictly  of  the  Cinderella 
type  than  the  two  last,  but  no  stepmother  appears  in  them.] 


46  Favole. 


THE  POT  OF  MARJORAM.1 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  father  who  was  a  rich,  very 
rich,  merchant,  and  the  daughters  had  been  used  all  their 
lives  to  have  every  thing  that  money  could  buy  them,  so 
that  one  day  when  the  father  was  going  to  a  distant  mart 
where  he  expected  to  find  the  choicest  wares,  and  asked 
them  what  he  should  bring  home,  they  scarcely  knew 
what  to  ask.  But  when  he  told  them  he  expected  to  find 
shawls  of  such  brilliant  hues  as  they  had  never  seen,  with 
gold  threads  interwoven,  th'e  eldest  instantly  begged  him 
to  bring  her  one  of  these ;  and  when  he  said  he  expected 
to  find  coverlets  of  bird  plumage  vieing  with  the  rain- 
bow in  brilliancy,  the  second  entreated  him  to  bring  her 
one  of  these. 

The  third  daughter,  however,  who  was  distinguished 
by  stay-at-home  habits,  and  by  her  distaste  foff  vanity  of 
every  kind,  would  not  have  any  of  these  gay  ornaments, 
though  he  not  only  offered  her  shawls  and  coverlets  such 
as  her  sisters  revelled  in  the  idea  of  possessing,  but  precious 
jewelry,  sparkling  rubies,  and  rarest  pearls.  She  would 
have  none  of  these,  but  asked  him  only  to  bring  her  a  pot 
of  marjoram,  which  she  wanted  for  household  uses  as 
none  was  to  be  got  in  the  country  where  they  were 
living. 

The  father  soon  after  set  out  on  his  travels,  and  having 
reached  his  destination  did  not  fail,  while  laying  in  his 
rare  and  precious  stock,  to  select  the  choicest  specimens 
to  bestow  on  his  two  eldest  daughters. 

But  the  homely  pot  of  marjoram  quite  went  out  of  his 
head,  and  he  returned  homewards  without  having  so  much 
as  thought  of  it. 

He  was  nearly  home  when  he  was  accosted  on  the  way 
by  a  strange-looking  man  one  evening,  who  asked  him  if 
he  would  not  buy  of  him  a  pot  of  marjoram. 


The  Pot  of  Marjoram.  47 

*  A  pot  of  marjoram  ! '     The  words  brought  back  his 
youngest  daughter's  request   whom   he   would   not   have 
disappointed  for  all  the  world. 

*  A  pot  of  marjoram,  say  you  ?     Yes,  it's  just  what  I 
want.     Give  it  here,  and  there's  something  extra  because 
it  is  just  what   I  want;'  and  throwing  him  money  to 
three  or  four  times  the  ordinary  value  of  the  article,  he 
called  to  an  attendant  to  stow  the  pot  on  to  the  pack- 
saddle  of  one  of  the  mules. 

But  the  stranger  held  back  the  pot  and  laughed  in  his 
face. 

' I  had  thought  you  were  a  trader,'  he  said,  '  and  knew 
enough  of  the  rules  of  trade  to  let  a  man  fix  his  own  price 
on  his  own  wares.' 

The  merchant  laughed  in  his  turn  at  what  seemed  to 
him  an  insolent  comparison. 

'When  a  trader  goes  thousands  of  miles,  through  a 
thousand  perils  to  bring  home  precious  wares  from  afar 
which  those  at  home  scarcely  know  the  use  of,  true,  then, 
he  alone  can  fix  the  price.  But  a  pot  of  marjoram,  every 
one  knows  the  price  of  that.' 

'  Perhaps  not,'  replied  the  stranger,  binding  his  cloak 
about  him  with  the  pot  tightly  held  under  his  arm.  '  At 
all  events  it  is  clear  you  don't ; '  and  he  took  a  step  for- 
ward as  if  he  considered  the  negotiation  at  an  end. 

The  merchant  was  vexed  ;  he  would  not  on  any  account 
miss  taking  back  a  pot  of  marjoram,  and  he  knew  he  was 
now  so  near  home  that  no  other  chance  would  there  be 
of  procuring  one.  Swallowing  down  his  annoyance  as 
well  as  he  could,  therefore,  he  led  his  horse  nearer  to  the 
strange  man  and  said, — 

'  You  make  me  quite  curious  to  hear  your  price  named, 
friend,  as  till  this  moment  I  had  not  thought  there  could 
be  two  ideas  on  the  subject.' 

'My  price  is  three  hundred  thousand  scudi,'  replied 
the  strange  man,  who  was  really  a  magician ;  'and  if  you 


48  Favole. 

knew  its  powers  you  would  know,  too,  it  is  cheap  at 
that.' 

And  again  he  made  as  if  he  would  have  gone  on  his 
way,  indifferent  whether  the  bargain  were  concluded  or 
not. 

The  merchant  was  quite  puzzled  how  to  act.  The 
pot  of  marjoram  he  must  have,  and  his  knowledge  of  the 
art  of  bargaining  convinced  him  that  the  man's  manner 
meant  he  would  not  rebate  an  iota  of  his  price.  What- 
ever awkwardness  he  felt  in  suddenly  giving  three  hundred 
thousand  scudi  for  an  article  he  had  just  appraised  at  a 
paul  it  was  even  more  apparent  to  him  that  any  attempt 
at  haggling  would  only  have  added  to  the  absurdity  of 
the  situation  by  its  futility.  Therefore,  assuming  a  mag- 
nificent air,  as  if  the  vast  price  were  after  all  no  matter  to 
him,  he  called  to  his  steward  to  count  out  the  sum  de- 
manded and  rode  on. 

Arrived  at  home,  his  showy  presents  were  received  with 
raptures  by  his  two  eldest  daughters,  while  the  youngest 
received  her  modest-seeming  share  of  his  generosity  with 
an  expression  of  surprise  and  admiration,  which  gave  the 
good  merchant  a  secret  satisfaction  in  imagining  that  she 
was  not  altogether  ignorant  of  its  immense  value. 

As  days  went  by,  however,  everything  fell  back  into 
the  usual  routine.  The  elder  sisters  continued  the  same 
round  of  gaiety  in  which  they  had  ever  been  immersed, 
the  younger  remained  as  of  old,  quietly  absorbed  in  her 
household  duties ;  but  if  she  had  any  pastime  it  was  that 
of  diligently  cultivating  her  pot  of  marjoram.  By  degrees, 
however,  through  the  steward's  gossip  with  the  servants, 
it  came  round  to  the  knowledge  of  the  sisters  that,  though 
theiryounger  sister  had  seemed  to  frame  so  humble  a  request, 
its  satisfaction  had  cost  their  father's  treasury  a  fabulous 
sum.  The  discovery  excited  their  utmost  indignation, 
and  their  jealousy  being  roused,  they  determined  to  inflict 
a  condign  and  appropriate  punishment  for  what  they 


The  Pot  of  Marjoram.  49 

deemed  her  presumption,  by  destroying  the  illstarred  pot 
of  marjoram. 

To  get  at  it,  however,  was  no  easy  matter,  as  its 
guardian  seldom  left  the  house,  and  was  always  watching 
over  it  with  jealous  care.  At  last  they  resolved,  by  way 
of  pretext  for  securing  her  absence,  to  represent  to  their 
father  that  it  was  not  good  for  a  young  girl  to  remain  so 
shut  up  ;  that  whether  she  had  a  taste  for  it  or  not,  she 
ought  to  see  the  world ;  and  urged  their  arguments  so 
efficaciously  that  he  quite  admitted  their  cogency,  and 
one  evening,  calling  his  youngest  daughter  to  him,  im- 
peratively required  that  she  should  accompany  him  to  an 
evening  engagement. 

The  poor  child  dared  not  disobey  her  father,  but  parted 
from  her  pot  of  marjoram  with  a  heavy  heart,  as  if  some 
foreboding  of  evil  possessed  her.  No  sooner  had  she  left 
the  house  than  the  sisters  went  up  into  her  room,  and 
taking  the  pot  of  marjoram,  flung  it  out  of  the  window, 
so  that  it  all  lay  broken  and  shattered  on  the  highroad, 
where  it  was  soon  trampled  under  foot  and  every  vestige 
of  it  dispersed. 

When  she  came  in  and  saw  what  was  done  her  grief 
was  unbounded,  and  no  sooner  was  the  house  sunk  in 
slumber  than,  determining  to  live  no  longer  under  the 
same  roof  with  those  who  had  treated  her  so  unfeelingly, 
she  set  out  to  wander  forth  absorbed  in  sorrow,  and  not 
caring  whither  she  went. 

On,  on,  on  she  went,  taking  no  heed  of  the  way,  all 
through  the  night,  and  when  the  morning  dawned  she 
found  herself  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  plain,  at  a  place  where 
many  roads  met.  As  she  hesitated  for  a  moment  which 
she  should  take,  there  suddenly  appeared  before  her  a 
fairy,2  though  the  last  time  she  looked  up  she  had  not 
seen  a  speck  anywhere  between  herself  and  the  horizon. 

'  Where  are  you  going  so  early,  my  pretty  maiden,  and 


50  Favole. 

why  weep  you  ? '  said  the  fairy,  in  a  soothing  voice  that 
seemed  made  to  charm  an  answer  out  of  the  most  re- 
luctant. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  no  easy  question  to  answer,  for  the 
maiden  had  no  sort  of  idea  whither  she  was  going ;  there- 
fore she  took  the  second  question  first  and  poured  out  the 
whole  tale  of  her  sisters'  harshness  and  her  late  terrible 
disappointment. 

'  That  is  not  so  very  bad  after  all,'  replied  the  fairy, 
when  she  had  finished  her  tale.  'I  see  you  have  been 
trying  to  be  a  sensible  girl,  but  you  must  be  brave  as  well 
as  sensible.  Men  say  of  us  women,  "  Women  always  look  at 
the  dark  side  of  things  ; "  3  there  is  always  a  bright  side 
which  you  must  try  to  look  out  for,  even  when,  as  in  this 
instance,  you  couldn't  possibly  see  it ;  for  all  the  evil  that 
befalls  us  does  not  work  evil  in  the  end.4  Now  it  happens 
that  there  is  a  particularly  bright  side  to  this  case  of  yours, 
and  the  evil  that  was  done  you  will  bring  you  no  ultimate 
harm.  But  you  must  exercise  fortitude  and  stedfastness  in 
what  you  will  have  to  do.  For  this  I  will  give  you  a  man's 
clothing,  as  it  would  not  be  seemly  for  a  young  girl  like  you 
to  be  going  about  the  world  alone,  and  it  will  save  you 
from  many  dangers.' 

So  saying,  though  she  had  no  bundle  of  any  sort  about 
her,  she  produced  a  complete  suit  of  male  attire,  travelling 
cloak  and  all,  and  in  the  girdle  were  bound  weapons,  and 
many  articles  of  which  the  maiden  did  not  even  know  the 
use  or  the  name,  but  the  fairy  assured  her  she  would  want 
them  all  by  and  by.  Then,  having  pointed  out  which  was 
the  road  she  should  take,  she  again  bid  her  be  of  good 
heart,  and  disappeared  almost  before  the  maiden  had  time 
to  utter  her  heartfelt  thanks. 

The  fairy  had  no  sooner  vanished  than  the  whole 
face  of  the  country  wore  a  different  aspect ;  instead  of  being 
surrounded  by  a  vast  plain,  mighty  mountains  rose  on 
the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  while  before  her,  straight 


The  Pot  of  Marjoram.  5 1 

along  her  path,  was  a  dense  forest.  The  maiden's  heart 
misgave  her  at  the  sight,  but  she  remembered  the  fairy's 
advice  and  walked  steadily  along.  Notwithstanding  her 
conversation  b.ad  not  seemed  to  last  many  minutes  too, 
the  sun  was  already  high  in  the  heavens,  and  its  rays  beat 
so  fiercely  upon  her  that  she  was  glad  even  of  the  gloomy 
forest's  shade.  Arrived  at  the  first  trees  she  was  pleased 
to  hear  the  trickling  of  a  little  brook  over  the  stones,  and 
to  find  that  the  good  fairy  had  not  failed  to  give  her  a 
supply  of  provisions  of  which  she  now  gladly  availed  her- 
self. 

As  the  afternoon  grew  cooler  she  rose  and  walked  on 
till  nightfall  without  further  adventure,  and  then  disposed 
herself  to  rest  for  the  night,  climbing  first  into  the  spreading 
boughs  of  a  large  tree,  that  she  might  be  out  of  the  way 
of  any  wild  beasts  which  the  forest  might  harbour. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  her  sleep  was  disturbed  by 
a  horrible  growling ;  and  what  was  her  surprise  when  she 
fully  woke  to  find  that  though  it  proceeded  from  a  common 
he-,  and  she-bear 5  stretched  out  under  the  very  tree  she  had 
chosen  for  her  resting-place,  she  could  understand  all  the 
meaning  it  contained  just  as  if  they  had  spoken  in  words ; 
and  she  recognised  the  new  power  as  another  gift  of  the 
good  fairy. 

'  Where  have  you  been  all  this  long  time  ? '  growled 
the  she-bear ;  '  it  is  quite  abominable  what  a  long  time  you 
stay  away  now  continually ;  I  have  been  hunting  through 
the  whole  forest  for  you.' 

'  That  was  quite  waste  of  trouble,'  replied  the  he-bear 
testily,  '  for  I  have  been  a  long  way  from  the  forest.' 

'  Where  were  you,  then  ?  '  growled  the  she-bear  again, 
with  a  tone  that  showed  she  was  determined  to  know  all 
about  it. 

'  If  you  must  know,  I  went  twenty  miles  along  the  side 
of  the  river,  then  over  the  back  of  the  rocky  mountains, 
and  then  skirting  round  the  forest  till  I  came  to  the  king- 

E    2 


5  2  Favole. 

dom  of  Persia.  And  out  of  the  kingdom  of  Persia  there 
went  up  a  great  wail,  for  last  night,  from  his  high  tower, 
the  king  of  Persia  fell  out  of  window  and  broke  all  his 
bones,  moreover  his  flesh  is  all  cut  with  the  glass,  which 
has  entered  into  his  wounds.  Therefore  the  land  of  Persia 
bewails  her  king.' 

'  Then  let  them  get  another  king,'  growled  the  she- 
bear. 

4  That  is  not  so  easy,'  rejoined  the  he-bear.  '  For  over 
all  the  face  of  the  earth  was  no  king  so  comely  in  person 
as  the  king  of  Persia.  But  that  is  not  the  worst,  for 
the  matter  concerns  us  more  nearly  than  you  have  any 
idea  of.' 

*  How  can  it  concern  us  ?  '  retorted  the  she-bear. 

*  It  concerns  us  so  much  that  if  anyone  only  knew  of 
us  we  should  both  be  killed.     For  the  only  remedy  for 
his  wounds  is  that  we  should  both  be  killed,  the  fat  of 
our   bodies   be    melted   together,   an   ointment  made   of 
it  with  honey  and  wax,  and  be  smeared  over  the  king's 
body,  and  then  bathe  him  in  warm  baths,  doing  this  alter- 
nately for  the  space  of  three  days  he  will  be  made  well 
again.     And   now  he   has   sent   a  proclamation  into  all 
lands  inviting  any  physician  to  come  to  heal  him  by  his 
art,  and  if  any  of  them  by  their  books  and  their  divina- 
tion should  discover  this  we  both  shall  certainly  be  put  to 
death.' 

'  Nonsense  !  do  come  and  go  to  sleep,'  replied  the  she- 
bear  testily  ;  '  how  should  anyone  find  us  out  in  the  midst 
of  this  forest?' 

'  It's  not  very  likely  certainly,'  growled  the  he-bear. 

And  in  consequence  of  this  happy  feeling  of  security 
both  brutes  were  soon  fast  asleep. 

How  gladly  the  maiden  listened  to  their  snoring, 
when  she  found  she  could  understand  it  just  as  well  as 
their  growling. 

'  I'm  sound  asleep,'  snored  the  she-bear. 


The  Pot  of  Marjoram.  53 

'  I'm  so  tired  I  don't  want  ever  to  wake  again,'  snored 
her  mate. 

'  Neither  shall  you,'  said  the  maiden  as  she  noiselessly 
let  herself  down  from  the  tree. 

'  Only  think  of  that  old  king  of  Persia  wanting  our 
fat ;  long  may  he  wish  for  it ! '  snored  the  she-bear. 

'  Now  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  give  back  all  his 
strength  and  his  beauty  to  the  king  of  Persia,  but  the 
price  of  one's  life  is  too  much  for  the  honour,'  snored  the 
he-bear. 

'  Nevertheless,  you  shall  have  that  honour,'  whispered 
the  maiden,  as  she  drew  two  sharp  two-edged  knives  with 
which  her  girdle  was  furnished,  and,  taking  her  stand 
firmly,  plunged  one  with  each  hand  deep  into  the  throat 
of  each  beast.  A  mingled  stream  of  blood  gushed  forth, 
and  the  two  huge  carcases  rolled  over  without  so  much  as 
a  grunt,  so  neatly  had  the  execution  been  performed. 

By  the  first  morning's  light  she  once  more  called  all 
her  courage  to  her  assistance,  and  cut  up  the  carcasses, 
extracting  the  fat.  Then  she  lit  a  fire  and  melted  it  down 
together,  nor  was  she  without  the  requisite  wax  and  honey, 
for  the  good  fairy  had  provided  her  with  enough  of  each. 
The  ointment  made,  she  set  out  to  follow  the  line  of  travel 
the  bear  had  indicated,  and  not  without  much  toil  and 
weariness  at  last  found  herself  in  the  kingdom  of  Persia. 
Strong  in  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  her  remedy,  she  pre- 
sent°d  herself  at  once  at  the  palace  gate  and  demanded 
admission  on  the  score  of  her  ability  to  effect  the  desired 
cure  of  the  ailing  king. 

4  Though  I  may  not  have  the  high-sounding  fame  of 
which  I  daresay  many  can  boast  who  have  come  at  the 
summons  of  your  king,  yet  so  certain  am  I  of  the  powers 
of  my  treatment  that  I  put  my  life  in  your  hands,  and  give 
you  leave  to  torture  me  to  death  if  I  succeed  not.' 

'  Fear  not,  fair  sir,'  replied  the  chamberlain ;  '  no  diffi- 
culty will  be  made  in  admitting  you,  for  you  alone  have 


54  Favole. 

applied  to  heal  the  king.  Every  other  mediciner  through- 
out the  whole  world,  on  reading  the  description  of  the 
king's  ailments  given  in  the  proclamation,  has  pro- 
nounced his  health  past  recovery,  and  not  one  will  even 
make  the  attempt.' 

Pale,  emaciated,  and  agonised  as  he  was,  the  maiden 
at  once  recognised  on  her  admission  to  the  presence  of 
the  king  the  justice  of  the  bear's  account  of  his  personal 
attractions,  and  now  more  earnestly  than  ever  desired  her 
success. 

The  king  very  willingly  submitted  to  her  medicaments, 
and  at  the  end  of  three  days  was,  as  the  bear  had  predicted, 
quite  sound  in  limb  and  restored  to  all  his  beauty  of 
person.  If  his  personal  attractions  had  been  an  object 
of  admiration  to  the  maiden,  those  of  his  supposed  phy- 
sician had  not  been  lost  on  the  king,  and  when  she  came 
on  the  fourth  day  to  take  her  leave  of  him,  he  told  her  at 
once  he  could  not  think  of  parting  with  her ;  she  must 
remain  attached  to  his  court,  and  be  always  his  physician 
in  attendance.  The  flush  of  joy  which  she  could  not 
conceal  at  the  proposal  sufficed  to  convince  the  king  of 
the  justice  of  certain  suspicions  he  had  already  enter- 
tained, that  his  supposed  physician  was  no  physician,  but 
a  maiden  worthy  to  be  his  queen. 

For  the  moment  he  said  nothing  further,  but  only 
assigned  to  the  stranger  apartments  in  the  palace,  and  a 
suite  of  his  own,  and  a  yearly  stipend  on  the  most  liberal 
scale.  As  days  went  by,  being  continually  in  each  other's 
presence,  with  that  familiarity  which  their  new  relations 
allowed,  each  had  the  opportunity  of  growing  more  and 
more  fond  of  the  other.  At  last  the  king  called  his  cham- 
berlain to  him  one  day  and  told  him  it  was  his  desire  that 
the  state  physician  should  appear  before  him  dressed  in 
queenly  robes,  and  attended  by  a  train  of  ladies  of  the 
court,  and  damsels  and  pages  of  honour. 

The  chamberlain  fancied  that  the  life-peril  through 


The  Pot  of  Marjoram.  55 

which  the  prince  had  so  lately  passed  had  injured  his  brain, 
and  only  undertook  the  commission  with  a  visible  reluct- 
ance. Nevertheless,  as  he  durst  not  disobey  any  command 
of  his  sovereign,  how  strange  soever,  all  was  done  as  he 
had  directed ;  though  what  puzzled  the  chamberlain  the 
more  was  that  the  physician  seemed  as  nearly  demented  as 
the  king,  for,  instead  of  testifying  any  reluctance  in  sub- 
mitting to  such  a  travesty,  his  countenance  had  betrayed 
the  most  unmistakable  joy  at  hearing  the  king's  pleasure. 

The  king  had  further  given  orders  for  the  attendance 
of  all  the  great  officers  of  state  and  all  the  nobles  of  the 
land,  as  well  as  his  guards  of  various  degrees,  all  in 
brilliant  gala  dress.  Before  going  into  the  state  hall  to 
receive  their  homage,  however,  he  entered  alone  into  his 
private  cabinet,  whither  he  commanded  the  attendance  of 
his  physician.  Both  meeting  thus,  each  habited  to  the 
greatest  advantage  in  their  own  appropriate  dress,  each 
was  more  than  ever  smitten  with  the  attractions  of  the 
other.  The  king  was  not  very  long  in  winning  from  the 
maiden  the  confession  that  the  robes  she  now  wore  were 
those  of  her  sex,  or  that  she  shared  his  own  desire  that 
they  should  be  united  by  that  tie  which  would  bind  them 
together  inseparably  for  ever.  No  sooner  had  he  thus 
obtained  her  consent  than  he  led  her  into  the  midst  of 
the  assembled  court  and  required  the  homage  of  all  his 
people  to  her  as  their  queen. 

As  for  the  wicked  sisters,  his  first  act  was  to  send  for 
them  and  have  them  burnt  to  death. 

1  '  II  vaso  di  persa.'    Marjoram  goes  by  the  name  of  '  persa '  in  the 
vernacular  of  Eome.     Parsley,  which  sounds  the  more  literal  translation, 
is  '  erbetta.'     I  think  the  narrator  believed  it  to  be  connected  with  Persia. 

2  '  Fata '  is  a  powerful  enchantress.     I  know  no  English  equivalent  but 
'  fairy,'  though  there  is  this  difference  that  a '  fata'  is  by  no  means  invariably 
an  airy  and  beautiful  being  ;  she  more  often  wears  a  very  ordinary  appear- 
ance, and  not  unfrequently  that  of  a  very  old  wrinkled  woman,  but  is 
always  goodnatured  and  benevolent,  as  distinguished  from  the  malevolent 
'  Strega,'  a  nearer  counterpart  of  our  '  witch." 


56  Favole. 

1  Le  feminine  sempre  pigliano  il  peggio.' 

'  Non  tutto  il  male  vien'  per  nuocere.' 

'  Orgo,'  the  vernacular  form  of  the  classic  '  Oreo,'  is  the  Italian 
equ  valent  for  '  Old  Bogey ; '  but  it  is  also  used  in  place  of  '  orso,'  a  bear 
(as  n  the  precise  instance  of  this  tale  being  told  to  me),  when  it  is  desired 
to  give  terror  to  his  character  in  a  tale. 

['  How  well  I  remember,'  added  the  narrator,  '  the  way  my 
mother  used  always  to  end  that  story  when  she  told  it  to  me.' 

'  And  how  was  that  ?  '  asked  I  eagerly,  not  at  all  sorry  to 
come  across  some  local  addition  at  last. 

*  But  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  tale,  really,'  she  replied, 
as  deeming  it  too  unimportant  to  trouble  me  with. 
'  Never  mind,  I  should  like  to  hear  it,'  said  I. 
'  Well  then,  it  used  to  run  thus  :   "  Never  was  such  a  banquet 
made  in  all  the  world  as  for  the  nuptials  of  this  king  of  Persia. 
The  confetti  were  as  big  as  eggs  ;  and,  do  you  know,  I  had  five 
of  them  given  to  me."  ' 

'  O  mamma,'  I  used  to  say  then,  '  why  didn't  you  keep  them 
for  me  ?  what  splendid  confetti  they  must  have  been  !  ' 

'  Stop,  and  you  shall  hear  what  I  did  with  them,'  she  would 
reply. 

Uno  lo  dava  al  gallo  One  I  gave  to  the  cock 

Che  mi  portava  a  cavallo,  Who  carried  me  on  his  back,1 

Una  a  la  gallina  And  one  to  the  hen 

Che  m'  insegno  la  via.  Who  showed  me  the  way, 

Uno  al  porco  And  one  to  the  pig 

Che  m'  insegno  la  porta.  Who  pointed  out  the  door ; 

Uno  ne  mangiai,  One  I  ate  myself, 

E  uno  ne  misse  la,  And  one  I  put  by  there, 

Che  ancora  ci  sara.  Where  no  doubt  it  still  remains. 

And  she  used  to  point  as  she  spoke  at  an  old  glass  cabinet, 
where  I  would  go  and  rummage,  always  expecting  to  find  the 
sweetmeat,  till  one  day,  getting  convinced  it  had  no  existence,  I 
got  very  angry,  and  threw  a  big  key  at  one  of  the  panes  and 
broke  it,  and  she  never  would  tell  me  that  story  any  more.] 

1  Has  this  anything  to  do  with  'riding  the  cock-horse  '  ? 


The  Pot  of  Rue.  57 


THE  POT  OF 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  rich  merchant  who  had 
three  daughters.  Two  of  them  were  very  gay  and  fond 
of  dancing  and  theatres,  but  the  youngest  was  very  stay- 
at-home  and  scarcely  ever  went  beyond  the  garden. 

One  day  when  the  father  was  going  abroad  to  buy 
merchandise,  he  asked  his  three  daughters  what  he  should 
bring  them  home.  The  two  eldest  asked  for  all  manner 
of  dresses  and  ornaments,  but  the  youngest  asked  only  for 
a  pot  of  rue. 

'  That's  a  funny  fancy,'  said  the  father,  '  but  an  easy 
one  to  satisfy  at  all  events  ;  so  be  sure  you  shall  have  it.' 

'  Not  so  easy,  perhaps,  as  you  think,'  replied  the 
maiden  ;  '  only  now  you  have  promised  it,  mind  you  bring 
it,  as  you  will  find  you  will  not  be  able  to  get  home 
unless  you  bring  it  with  you.' 

The  father  did  not  pay  much  heed  to  her  words,  but 
went  to  a  far  country,  bought  his  merchandise,  taking 
care  to  include  the  fine  clothes  and  jewels  for  his  two 
eldest  daughters,  and,  forgetting  about  the  pot  of  rue,  set 
out  to  come  home. 

They  were  scarcely  a  day's  journey  out  at  sea  when 
the  ship  stood  quite  still,  nor  was  the  captain  able  by  any 
means  to  govern  it,  for  neither  sail  nor  oar  would  move  it 
an  inch. 

4  Some  one  on  board  has  an  unfulfilled  promise  on 
him,'  declared  the  captain  ;  and  he  called  upon  who- 
ever it  was  to  come  forward  and  own  it,  that  he  might  be 
thrown  overboard,  and  that  the  lives  of  all  the  passengers 
and  crew  should  not  be  put  in  jeopardy  by  his  fault. 

Then  the  merchant  came  forward  and  said  it  was  true 
he  had  forgotten  to  bring  with  him  something  he  had 
promised  to  his  little  daughter,  but  that  it  was  so  slight 
a  matter  he  did  not  think  it  could  be  that  which  was 
stopping  the  ship. 


58  Favole. 

As  no  one  else  had  anything  of  the  sort  to  accuse 
themselves  of,  the  captain  judged  that  it  was  indeed  the 
merchant's  fault  that  had  stopped  the  ship ;  only,  as  he 
was  such  a  great  merchant  and  a  frequent  trader  by  his 
vessel,  he  agreed  to  put  back  with  him  instead  of  throwing 
him  overboard.  He  first,  however,  asked, — 

'  And  what  may  the  thing  be  that  you  have  to  take  to 
your  daughter  ? ' 

'  Nothing  but  a  pot  of  rue,'  replied  the  merchant. 

4  A  pot  of  rue ! '  answered  the  captain  ;  '  that  is  no 
easy  matter.  In  the  whole  country  there  is  no  one  has  a 
plant  of  it  but  the  king,  and  he  is  so  choice  over  it  that 
he  has  decreed  that  if  anyone  venture  to  ask  him  only 
for  a  single  leaf  he  shall  instantly  be  put  to  death.' 

'  That  is  bad  hearing,'  said  the  merchant.  '  Never- 
theless, as  I  have  promised  to  get  it  I  must  make  the 
trial,  and  if  I  perish  in  the  attempt  I  might  have  had  a 
worse  death.' 

So  they  landed  the  merchant,  and  he  went  straight  up 
to  the  king's  palace. 

'  Majesty ! '  he  said,  throwing  himself  on  his  knees 
before  the  throne.  '  It  is  in  no  spirit  of  wantonness  I 
break  the  decree  which  forbids  the  asking  a  single  leaf  of 
the  precious  plant  of  rue.  A  promise  was  on  me  before 
I  knew  the  king's  decree,  and  I  am  bound  thereby  to  ask 
not  merely  a  single  leaf  but  the  whole  plant,  of  the  king, 
even  though  it  be  at  peril  of  my  life.' 

Then  said  the  king, — 

'  To  whom  hadst  thou  made  this  promise  ? ' 

And  the  merchant  made  answer, — 

'  Though  it  was  only  to  my  youngest  daughter  I  made 
the.  promise,  yet  having  made  it,  I  will  not  leave  off  from 
asking  for  it.' 

Then  the  king  answered, — 

'  Because  thou  hast  been  faithful  to  thy  promise,  and 
courageous  in  risking  thy  life  rather  than  to  break  thy 


The  Pot  of  Rue.  59 

word,  behold  I  give  the  whole  plant  at  thy  desire ;  and 
this  without  breaking  my  royal  decree.  For  my  decree 
said  that  whoso  desired  a  single  leaf  should  be  put  to 
death,  but  in  that  thou  hast  asked  the  whole  plant  thou 
hast  shown  a  courage  worthy  of  reward.' 

So  he  took  the  plant  of  rue  and  gave  it  to  the  merchant 
to  give  to  his  daughter ;  moreover,  he  bade  him  tell  her 
that  she  should  every  night  burn  a  leaf  of  the  plant. 
With  that  he  dismissed  him. 

The  merchant  returned  home  and  distributed  the 
presents  he  had  brought  to  his  daughters,  and  not  more 
pleased  were  the  elder  ones  with  their  fine  gifts  than  was 
the  younger  with  her  simple  pot  of  rue.  In  the  evening 
they  went  with  their  father  to  the  ball  as  usual,  but  the 
youngest  staid  at  home  as  she  was  wont  to  do,  and  this 
night  she  burnt  a  leaf  of  the  rue  as  the  king  had  bidden  her. 
But  the  king  had  three  beautiful  sons,  and  no  sooner  had 
she  burnt  the  rue  leaf  than  the  eldest  son  of  the  king 
appeared  before  her,  and  sitting  beside  her,  said  so  many 
kind  things  that  no  evening  had  ever  passed  so  pleasantly. 
This  she  did  every  evening  as  the  king  had  bidden. 

But  the  other  merchants  said  to  the  merchant  her 
father, — 

'  How  is  it  that  only  two  daughters  come  to  the 
balls?' 

And  the  merchant,  not  knowing  how  to  account  for 
the  youngest  daughter's  preference  for  staying  at  home, 
answered, — 

'  I  have  only  two  daughters  old  enough  to  come  to  the 
balls  ? ' 

But  the  other  merchants  said, — 

'  Xay,  but  bring  now  thy  youngest  daughter.' 

So  the  next  evening  the  merchant  made  the  youngest 
daughter  go  with  him  to  the  ball,  and  the  two  elder 
daughters  were  left  at  home. 

As  the  youngest  was  wont  never  to  leave  her  room,  the 


60  Favole. 

others,  how  jealous  soever  they  were  of  her,  were  never 
able  to  do  her  any  harm.  But  now  that  they  felt  secure 
she  was  absent  for  a  considerable  space,  they  went  into 
her  apartment  and  set  fire  to  it,  and  the  whole  place  was 
burnt,  and  also  the  garden,  and  the  plant  of  rue. 

If  the  king's  son  had  come  in  haste  for  the  burning  of 
a  single  leaf,  I  leave  it  to  be  imagined  with  what  speed  he 
came  for  the  burning  of  the  whole  plant.  With  such  im- 
petus, indeed,  he  came,  that  he  was  bruised  and  burnt  all 
over  with  the  flaming  beams  of  which  the  apartment  was 
built,  and  cut  all  over  with  the  broken  glass  ;  so  that 
when  he  reached  home  again  he  was  in  a  sorry  plight 
indeed. 

But  the  youngest  daughter,  coming  home  with  her 
father  from  the  ball,  and  finding  all  her  apartment  burnt 
to  the  ground,  as  well  as  all  the  plants  in  the  garden,  and 
with  them  the  pot  of  rue,  she  said,  '  I  will  stay  no  more  in 
this  place.'  So  she  dressed  herself  in  man's  clothes  and 
wandered  forth. 

On,  on,  on,  she  went,  till  night  came,  and  she  could 
go  no  further,  but  she  laid  herself  to  sleep  under  a  tree. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night  came  an  ogre  and  an  ogress,2 
and  laid  themselves  down  also  under  the  tree.  Then  she 
heard  the  ogre  speaking  to  the  ogress,  and  saying,  '  Our 
king's  eldest  son,  the  flower  of  the  land,  is  sore  ill  and  like 
to  die,  having  fallen  through  the  window  of  the  highest 
story  of  the  palace,  and  is  cut  with  the  glass,  and  bruised 
all  over.  What  shall  be  done  to  heal  the  king's  eldest 
son,  the  flower  of  the  land  ?  ' 

And  the  ogress  made  answer :  '  This  is  what  should  be 
done — but  it  is  well  no  one  knows  it.  They  should  kill 
us,  and  take  the  fat  that  is  round  our  hearts  and  make  an 
ointment,  and  anoint  therewith  the  wounds  of  the  king's 
son.' 

When  the  merchant's  daughter  heard  this,  she  waited 
till  the  ogre  and  ogress  were  gone  to  sleep ;  then  she  took 


The  Pot  of  Rue.  61 

out  a  brace  of  pistols — for  with  the  man's  dress  she  had 
also  a  brace  of  pistols — and  with  one  in  each  hand  she 
killed  the  ogre  and  ogress  together,  and  with  her  knife 
she  ripped  them  open,  and  took  out  the  fat  that  was  round 
their  hearts.  Then  she  journeyed  on  till  she  came  to  the 
king's  palace.  At  the  door  of  the  palace  stood  a  guard, 
who  told  her  there  was  no  entrance  for  such  as  her ;  but 
she  said.  '  To  heal  the  wounds  of  the  king's  eldest  son  am 
I  come.' 

Then  the  sentinel  laughed,  and  said,  '  So  many  great 
and  learned  surgeons  have  come,  and  have  benefited  him 
nothing  j  there  is  no  entrance  for  a  mountebank  like  thee. 
Begone  !  begone  ! ' 

But  she,  knowing  certainly  that  she  had  the  only 
means  of  healing,  would  not  be  sent  away ;  and  when  the 
sentinel  would  have  driven  her  off  she  struggled  so  bravely 
that  he  had  to  call  out  all  the  guard  to  resist  her ;  and 
when  they  all  used  their  strength  against  her,  she  pro- 
tested so  loudly  that  the  noise  of  the  struggle  made  the 
king  himself  begin  to  inquire  what  was  the  matter. 
Then  they  told  him,  '  Behold,  there  stands  without  a  low 
and  base  fellow,  who  would  fain  pretend  to  heal  the  wounds 
of  the  king's  son.' 

But  the  king  answered  :  *  As  all  the  great  and  learned 
surgeons  have  failed,  let  even  the  travelling-  doctor  try  his 
skill ;  maybe  he  knows  some  means  of  healing.' 

Then  she  was  brought  into  the  apartment  of  the  king's 
son,  and  she  asked  for  all  she  needed  to  make  the  ointment, 
and  linen  for  bandages,  and  to  be  left  alone  with  him  for 
the  space  of  a  week.  At  the  end  of  a  week  the  king's  son 
was  perfectly  cured  and  well.  Then  she  dressed  herself 
with  care,  but  still  in  the  garb  of  a  travelling  doctor — for 
she  had  no  other — and  stood  before  him,  and  said,  '  Know 
you  me  not  ? '  And  when  he  looked  at  her  he  said,  '  Ah  ! 
yes  ;  the  maiden  of  the  rue  plant ! '  For  till  then  she  had 
been  so  soiled  with  the  dust  of  travel  that  he  could  not 


62  Favole. 

recognise  her.  Then  when  he  had  recognised  her  he  pro- 
tested he  would  marry  her,  and,  sending  to  the  king  his 
father,  he  told  him  the  same. 

When  the  king  heard  of  his  resolve,  he  said,  '  It  is  well 
that  the  prince  is  healed  of  his  wounds  ;  but  with  the 
return  of  bodily  health  it  is  evident  he  has  lost  his  reason, 
in  that  he  is  determined  to  marry  his  surgeon.  Never- 
theless, as  nothing  is  gained  in  this  kind  of  malady  by 
contradiction,  it  is  best  to  humour  him.  We  must  get 
this  surgeon  to  submit  to  be  dressed  up  like  a  princess, 
and  we  must  amuse  him  by  letting  him  go  through  the 
form  of  marrying  her.' 

It  was  done,  therefore,  as  the  king  had  said.  But 
when  the  ladies  of  the  court  came  to  attend  the  supposed 
surgeon,  and  saw  her  dressed  in  her  bridal  robes,  they  saw 
by  the  way  they  became  her  that  she  was  indeed  a  woman 
and  no  surgeon,  and  that  the  prince  was  by  no  means  dis- 
tempered in  his  mind. 

But  the  prince  silenced  their  exclamations,  saying: 
'  Nay,  but  say  nothing  ;  for  perchance  if  my  father  knew 
that  this  should  be  a  real  marriage,  and  no  mere  make- 
believe  to  humour  a  disordered  whim,  he  might  withhold 
his  consent,  seeing  the  maiden  is  no  princess.  But  I 
know  she  is  the  wife  destined  for  me,  because  my  mother, 
before  she  died,  told  me  I  should  know  her  by  the  pot  of 
rue ;  and  because,  by  devoting  herself  to  healing  me,  she 
has  deserved  well  of  me.  So  let  the  marriage  go  through, 
even  as  the  king  my  father  had  devised.' 

So  the  marriage  was  celebrated,  and  when  the  king  learnt 
afterwards  that  the  pretended  surgeon  was  a  real  maiden, 
he  knew  the  thing  could  not  be  altered,  and  said  nothing. 
So  the  merchant's  daughter  became  the  prince's  wife. 

1  '  II  Vaso  di  Kuta.' 

2  '  Oreo  ed  orchessa.' 

[The  following  is  a  third  variant  of  this  story,  but  so  like  the 
last,  that  I  only  give  an  abbreviated  version  of  it.] 


King  Otto.  63 


KING   OTHO.1 

IN  this  case  the  merchant,  when  he  goes  out  to  buy  his 
wares,  asks  his  three  daughters  what  he  shall  bring  them. 
The  eldest  asks  for  fine  dresses,  the  second  for  beautiful 
shawls,  the  third  for  nothing  but  some  sand  out  of  the 
garden  of  King  Otho.  The  king  had  registered  sentence 
of  death  against  anyone  who  shotild  ask  for  the  sand. 
But  in  consideration  of  a  bribe  of  three  hundred  scudi  the 
gardener  gives  him  a  little. 

When  she  gets  it,  the  daughter  burns  a  little  in  the 
evening,  when  the  sisters  are  gone  to  a  ball.  Instantly 
King  Otho  comes,  and  falls  in  love  with  her.  She  gives 
him  a  most  exquisite  pair  of  knee-bands  she  has  em- 
broidered, before  he  goes  away.  The  second  night  she 
gives  him  a  handkerchief  of  her  work,  and  the  third  a 
beautiful  necktie. 

After  this,  her  father  insists  one  evening  that  she 
should  go  to  the  ball.  Her  sisters  say  that  if  she  goes 
they  shall  stay  away.  When  she  is  gone  they  burn  down 
her  room,  and  in  it  all  the  sand  of  King  Otho's  garden. 
If  the  king  came  quickly  for  the  burning  of  a  little  pinch, 
he  naturally  comes  in  exceeding  greater  haste  at  the  burn- 
ing of  the  whole  quantity :  in  such  haste  that  he  is 
wounded  all  over  with  the  blazing  beams  and  broken 
glass.  There  is  a  great  explosion.2  As  he  knew  nothing 
about  the  spite  of  the  sisters,  he  could  only  think  that  the 
mischief  arose  from  the  misconduct  of  her  to  whom  the 
sand  had  been  given,  and  determines  accordingly  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  her. 

When  she  comes  home,  and  finds  what  has  happened, 
she  is  in  despair.  She  dresses  like  a  man  and  goes  away. 
In  the  night,  in  a  cave  where  she  takes  shelter,  she  hears 
an  ogre  and  ogress  talking  over  what  has  happened,  and 
they  say  that  the  only  cure  is  an  ointment  made  of  their 
blood.3  She  shoots  them  both,  and  takes  their  blood  and 


64  Favole. 

heals  the  king  with  it.  The  king  offers  any  kind  of  re- 
ward the  supposed  doctor  will  name ;  but  she  will  have 
nothing  but  some  of  the  sand  of  the  garden.  She  con- 
trives, however,  to  discover  the  knee-bands,  the  handker- 
chief, and  the  necktie  she  had  given  him,  and  asks  him 
what  they  are.  '  Oh,  only  the  presents  of  a  faithless  lover,' 
he  replies.  She  then  insists  he  should  give  them  up  to 
her,  which  he  does,  and  she  goes  away. 

When  she  gets  home  she  burns  a  pinch  of  the  sand, 
and  the  king  is  forced  by  its  virtue  to  appear ;  but  he 
comes  in  great  indignation,  and  accuses  her  of  wounding 
him.  She  replies  it  was  not  she  who  wounded  him,  but 
who  healed  him.  He  is  incredulous  ;  and  she  shows  him 
the  knee-bands,  handkerchief,  and  necktie,  which  convince 
him  he  owes  his  healing  to  her.  They  make  peace,  and 
are  married. 

1  This  was  pronounced  '  Uttone,'  but  was  doubtless  intended  for  '  King 
Otho.'     Words  which  in  Latin  were  spelt  with  a   «,  as  '  Bollo,'  '  polio,' 
retain  the  sound  of  u  in  the  mouth  of  the  people ;  but  I  know  of  no 
reason  for  it  in  the  present  instance. 

2  '  Precipizio,'  equivalent  to  '  an  explosion,'  '  a  terrible  kick-up,'  &c. 

*  The  blood  instead  of  the  fat  is  one  of  the  variations  of  this  version. 
It  is  not  easy  to  see  how  blood  can  enter  into  the  composition  of  an  oint- 
ment, yet  one  of  the  most  frequent  charges  to  be  met  in  processes  against 
witches  was  taking  the  blood  of  infants  to  make  various  ointments. 

[Mr.  Ralston  gives  a  very  pretty  counterpart  of  so  much  of 
this  story  as  relates  to  the  transformation  of  a  human  being  into  a 
flower,  at  p.  15  of  the  story  commencing  at  page  10,  and 
'  Aschenputtel,'  Grimm,  p.  93,  has  something  like  it ;  but  I  do 
not  recall  any  European  story  in  which  a  person  is  actually 
wounded  and  half -killed  by  damage  done  to  a  tree  mysteriously 
connected  with  him.  There  is  something  like  it  in  the  '  trees  of 
life '  which  people  plant,  and  their  withering  is  to  be  a  token 
that  harm  has  befallen  them. 

Overhearing  the  advice  of  supernatural  beasts  under  a  tree 
occurs  in  the  Norse  '  True  and  Untrue,'  and  is  very  common  in 
all  sorts  of  Avays,  everywhere.  It  enters,  too,  into  the  analogous 
Italian  Tirolean  tale  of  '  I  due  cavallari,'  where  witches  figure 
instead  of  the  orco  and  orchessa. 


King  Otho.  65 

Next,  are  four  stories  in  which  many  incidents  of  the  Cinde- 
rella type  are  set  in  a  different  framework  ;  they  are  represented 
in  the  Gaelic  by  '  The  King  who  wanted  to  marry  his  Daughter ; ' 
at  the  end  of  which  reference  will  be  found  to  other  versions, 
where  are  details  occurring  in  one  or  other  of  the  following  :  that 
from  Straparola  is  naturally  the  most  like  the  Roman,  but  it  is  not 
like  any  one  of  them  all  throughout,  and  forms  a  remarkable  link 
between  the  first  Eoman  and  the  two  Gaelic  versions.  The  girl's 
answer,  that  she '  came  from  the  country  of  candlesticks,'  in  the  se- 
cond version,  is  noteworthy,  because  it  connects  it  with  the  Roman 
story  of  the  '  Candeliera,'  at  the  same  time  that  it  conveys  no  sense 
in  its  own.  The  box  in  the  Gaelic  versions  recalls,  just  as  Mr. 
Campbell  says,  the  fine  old  chests  which  served  for  conveying  home 
the  corredo  (including  much  more  than  trousseau  in  its  modern 
use)  of  the  bride,  which  are  not  only  preserved  as  heirlooms  and 
curiosities  in  many  an  Italian  palace,  but  in  many  a  museum 
also ;  there  are  some  very  handsome  ones  at  Perugia.  And  yet 
it  is  just  in  the  Italian  versions  that  the  box  loses  this  character. 
In  Straparola' s,  it  is  a  wardrobe  ;  in  the  two  versions  of  '  Maria 
di  Legno,'  a  wooden  statue  :  in  '  La  Candeliera,'  it  has  the  shape 
of  a  candlestick.  In  the  third  version  of  '  Maria  di  Legno,'  the 
box  used  is  only  an  old  press  that  happens  to  be  in  the  deserted 
tower. 

Mr.  Ralston,  pp.  77-8,  supplies  a  Russian  counterpart,  in 
which  it  is  a  prince,  and  not  a  maiden,  who  is  conveyed  in  a 
provisioned  box,  and  this  is  linked  hereby  with  the  Hungarian 
story  of  Iron  Ladislas,  who  descends  by  such  means  to  the 
underpround  world  in  search  of  his  sisters ;  and  this  again  con- 
nects this  story  both  with  those  in  which  I  have  already  had 
occasion  to  mention  him  and  with  one  to  follow  called  '  II  Re 
Moro,'  one  I  have  in  MS.  called  '  II  Cavolo  d'oro,  &c.  The  first 
and  more  elaborate  of  the  four  Roman  stories,  '  Maria  di  Legno,' 
does  the  same.] 


66  Favole. 


MARIA    WOOD.1 

ONCE  again  my  story  is  of  a  widower  father ;  this 
time,  however,  a  king,  and  having  one  only  daughter, 
Maria,  the  apple  of  his  eye  and  the  pride  of  his  heart. 
The  one  concern  of  his  life  was  to  marry  her  well  and 
happily  before  he  died. 

The  queen,  whom  he  believed  to  be  wise  above  mortal 
women,  had  left  him  when  she  died  a  ring,  with  the 
advice  to  listen  to  the  addresses  of  no  one  on  Maria's 
behalf  but  his  whose  finger  a  gold  ring  which  she  gave 
him  should  fit,  for  that  he  whom  it  alone  should  fit  would 
be  a  noble  and  a  worthy  husband  indeed. 

Maria's  teacher  was  very  different  from  those  we  have 
had  to  do  with  hitherto  ;  she  was  a  beneficent  fairy,  whose 
services  her  good  and  clever  mother  had  obtained  for  her 
under  this  disguise,  and  all  her  lessons  and  actions  were 
directed  entirely  for  her  benefit,  and  she  was  able  to 
advise  and  look  out  for  her  better  than  her  father  himself. 

Time  went  by,  and  no  one  who  came  to  court  Maria 
had  a  finger  which  the  ring  would  fit.  It  was  not  that 
Maria  was  not  quite  young  enough  to  wait,  but  her  father 
was  growing  old  and  feeble,  and  full  of  ailments,  and  he 
hasted  to  see  her  settled  in  life  before  death  called  him 
away. 

At  last  there  came  to  sue  for  Maria's  hand  a  most 
accomplished  cavalier,  who  declared  himself  to  be  a  prince 
of  a  distant  region,  and  he  certainly  brought  costly  pre- 
sents, and  was  attended  by  a  brilliant  retinue  well  calcu- 
lated to  sustain  the  alleged  character. 

The  father,  who  had  had  so  much  trouble  about  fitting 
the  ring,  was  much  disposed  not  to  attend  any  more  to 
this  circumstance  when  the  prince  objected  to  be  subjected 
to  so  trivial  a  trial.  After  some  days,  however,  as  he 


Maria  Wood.  67 

hesitated  finally  to  make  up  his  mind  to  bestow  her  on 
him  without  his  having  fulfilled  this  condition,  he  sud- 
denly consented  to  submit  to  it,  when,  lo  and  behold,  the 
ring  could  not  be  found ! 

'  If  you  have  not  got  the  ring,'  said  the  prince,  '  it 
really  is  not  my  fault  if  it  is  not  tried  on.  You  see  I  am 
perfectly  willing  to  accept  the  test,  but  if  you  cannot 
apply  it  you  must  not  visit  it  on  me.' 

'  What  you  say  is  most  reasonable,'  said  the  father. 
'  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  promised  her  mother  I  would  not 
let  the  girl  marry  anyone  but  him  the  ring  fitted.' 

'  Do  you  mean  then  that  the  girl  is  never  to  marry  at 
all,  since  you  have  lost  the  ring  !  That  wouM  be  mon- 
strous indeed.  You  may  be  sure,  however,  in  my  case, 
the  ring  ^vould  have  fitted  if  you  had  had  it  here,  because 
I  am  so  exactly  the  kind  of  husband  your  wife  promised 
the  ring  should  fit.  So  what  more  reasonable  than  to 
give  her  to  me  ?  However,  to  meet  your  wishes  and  pre- 
judices to  the  utmost,  I  am  willing  to  submit  to  any  other 
test,  however  difficult,  the  young  lady  herself  likes  to 
name.  Nay,  I  will  say — three  tests.  Will  that  satisfy 
you?' 

All  this  was  so  perfectly  reasonable  that  the  father 
felt  he  could  not  but  agree  to  it,  and  Maria  was  told  to 
be  ready  the  next  day  to  name  the  first  of  the  tests  which 
she  would  substitute  for  that  of  the  ring. 

Though  the  prince  was  so  handsome,  so  accomplished, 
so  rich,  and  so  persevering  with  his  suit,  Maria  felt  an 
instinctive  dislike  to  him,  which  embarrassed  her  the 
more  that  she  had  no  fault  of  any  sort  to  find  with  him 
which  she  could  make  patent  to  her  father. 

To  the  compassionate  and  appreciative  bosom  of  her 
teacher  she  poured  out  all  her  grief,  and  found  there  a 
ready  response. 

The  teacher,  who  by  her  fairy  powers  knew  what 
mortals  could  not  know,  knew  that  the  prince  was  no 

IF   2 


68  Favole. 

other  than  the  devil,2  and  that  the  marriage  must  be  pre- 
vented at  any  price,  but  that  it  would  be  vain  for  her  to 
give  this  information  to  the  father,  as  he  would  have 
laughed  in  her  face,  and  told  her  to  go  and  rule  copy- 
books and  knit  stockings.  She  must,  therefore,  set  to 
work  in  a  different  way  to  protect  her  charge  from  the 
impending  evil. 

In  the  first  instance,  however,  and  without  mention- 
ing the  alarming  disclosure  of  who  her  suitor  really  was, 
she  merely  bid  Maria  to  be  of  good  courage  and  all  would 
come  right ;  and  for  the  test  she  had  to  propose,  she  bid  her 
ask  him  to  produce  a  dress  woven  of  the  stars  of  heaven. 

The  next  morning,  accordingly,  when  the  prince  came 
to  inquire  what  her  good  pleasure  was,  she  asked  him  to 
bring  her  a  dress  woven  of  the  stars  of  heaven. 

The  prince  bit  his  lip,  and  a  look  of  fierceness  it  had 
never  worn  before  stole  over  his  face  at  hearing  this 
request.  And  though  he  instantly  put  on  a  smile,  there 
was  much  suppressed  anger  perceptible  in  the  tone  with 
which  he  answered, 

'  This  is  not  your  own  idea.  Some  one  who  has  no 
good  will  towards  me  has  told  you  this.' 

'  It  was  no  part  of  the  condition,  I  think,  that  I  should 
act  without  advice,  and  certainly  no  part  of  it  that  I 
should  say  whether  I  took  advice  or  not,'  replied  Maria 
discreetly ;  and  then  her  desire  to  break  from  the  engage- 
ment making  her  bold,  she  added, '  But,  you  know,  if  you 
do  not  like  the  test,  or  consider  it  in  any  way  unfair,  I 
do  not  press  you  to  accept  it.  You  will  meet  with  no 
reproach  from  me  if  you  renounce  it.' 

'  Oh  dear  no !  I  have  no  such  wish,'  the  prince  hastened 
to  reply.  '  The  dress  woven  of  the  stars  of  heaven  will  be 
here  by  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  have  only  to  be  ready 
by  the  same  time  to  name  what  is  the  second  test  you 
propose.' 

Maria  hastened  back  to  her  teacher  to  recount  the 


Maria  Wood.  69 

story  of  the  morning's  work ;  to  tell  of  the  moment  of 
hope  she  had  had  that  the  prince  would  renounce  the 
attempt,  and  then  his  final  acceptance  of  the  undertaking. 
'  Dear  teacher  mine !  Cannot  you  think  of  something 
else  so  very,  very  difficult  I  can  give  him  to  do  to-morrow 
that  he  may  be  obliged  to  refuse  it  ? ' 

'To-morrow  I  would  have  you  ask  him  for  a  dress 
woven  of  moonbeams,'  replied  the  teacher ;  ' which  will 
be  very  difficult  to  supply  ;  but  I  fear  he  will  yet  find  the 
means  of  accomplishing  it.' 

The  next  morning  the  dress  woven  of  the  stars  of 
heaven  was  brought  in  by  six  pages,  and  it  was  all  they 
could  do  to  carry  it,  for  the  dazzling  of  the  rays  of  the 
stars  in  their  eyes.  When  the  dress  of  moonbeams  was 
asked  for,  the  prince  showed  little  less  impatience  than 
at  the  first  request,  but  yet  undertook  to  supply  it,  and 
reminded  Maria  that  the  next  day  she  must  be  ready 
with  her  third  test. 

Once  more  Maria  had  recourse  to  her  sage  teacher's 
counsels,  and  this  time  was  advised  to  ask  for  a  dress 
woven  of  sunbeams. 

The  next  day  the  dress  woven  of  moonbeams  was  pro- 
duced, but  it  required  twelve  pages  to  bring  it  in,  for  it 
was  so  dazzling  they  could  only  hold  it  for  ten  minutes 
at  a  stretch,  and  they  had  to  carry  it  in  relays,  six  at  a 
time.  When  Maria  now  asked  for  the  dress  woven  of 
sunbeams,  the  prince  grew  so  angry  that  she  was  quite 
frightened,  and  at  the  same  time  entertained  for  a  moment 
a  confident  hope  that  now,  at  last,  he  would  own  himself 
baffled.  Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  a  few  moments'  hesi- 
tation, he  pronounced  his  intention  of  complying,  but 
added  in  almost  a  threatening  tone, '  And  remember  that 
when  it  comes  to-morrow  morning  you  will  not  then  have 
any  more  ridiculous  tests  to  prefer,  but  will  belong  to  me 
for  ever,  and  must  be  prepared  to  go  away  with  me  in 
the  carriage  that  will  be  at  the  door.'  He  turned  on  his 


7o  Favole. 

heel  as  he  spoke  and  stalked  away,  without  saying  good- 
bye, or  so  much  as  turning  to  look  at  her,  or  he  would 
have  seen  she  had  sunk  down  on  the  ground  in  an  agony 
of  despair. 

Her  father  came  in  and  found  her  thus,  and  asked 
her  what  could  possibly  put  her  into  such  a  state  on  the 
eve  of  such  a  brilliant  marriage.  Maria  threw  herself  in 
his  arms  and  told  him  all  her  distress,  but  when  it  was 
told  it  sounded  childish  and  unreasonable. 

'  Can  anything  be  more  absurd  ? '  replied  the  old  man. 
'  To-morrow  I  may  be  dead,  and  what  will  become  of  you  ? 
What  can  you  desire  -more  than  a  husband  suited  to 
you  in  age  and  person,  with  every  advantage  the  world 
can  offer?  And  you  would  throw  all  this  away  for  the 
sake  of  a  foolish  fancy  )'ou  cannot  even  explain !  Dry 
your  tears  and  do  not  listen  to  such  fancies  any  more, 
and  keep  your  pretty  little  face  in  good  order  for  looking 
as  smiling  and  as  pleasing  as  such  a  devoted  husband 
deserves  you  should  look  on  your  wedding  morning.  It  is 
I  who  have  to  lament ;  I  who  shall  be  left  alone  in  my 
old  age ;  but  I  do  not  repine,  I  shall  be  quite  happy 
for  my  few  remaining  days  in  knowing  that  you  have  all 
the  happiness  life  can  afford  you ; '  and  as  he  spoke  he 
clasped  her  fondly  in  his  arms. 

Maria,  reassured  by  his  words,  began  to  think  he  was 
in  the  right,  and  she  was  thus  as  cheerful  as  he  could  wish 
that  last  night  they  were  to  spend  together. 

But  when  night  came  and  she  found  the  teacher  who 
understood  her  so  well,  waiting  to  put  her  to  bed  for  the 
last  time,  all  her  own  true  feelings  came  back,  and,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  she  entreated  her  to  find  some  way  of 
delivering  her. 

'The  time  has  come,'  replied  the  teacher,  'that  I 
should  tell  you  all.  The  innocence  and  truthfulness  of 
your  heart  guided  you  right  in  believing  that  the  prince 
was  no  husband  for  you.  You  did  not,  and  could  not, 


Maria  Wood,  71 

know  who  he  was  ;  but  now  I  must  tell  you  he  is  the  devil 
himself.  Nay ;  do  not  shudder  and  tremble  so ;  it  remains 
entirely  with  yourself  to  decide  whether  you  shall  be  his 
or  not ;  he  can  have  no  sort  of  power  over  any  against 
their  will.' 

'  But,  of  course,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,' 
replied  the  child,  simply.  '  Why  don't  you  tell  papa,  and 
make  him  send  him  away  ?  ' 

'  Because,  for  one  thing,  he  would  not  believe  me. 
As  I  have  said,  the  prince  being  what  he  is  can  have  no 
power  over  you  against  your  own  will.  Your  breaking 
from  him  must  be  your  own  act.  Further,  you  must 
understand  the  terms  of  the  struggle.  Power  is  given  him 
to  deceive,  and  thus  he  has  deceived  your  father.  I  have 
been  set  by  your  mother  to  watch  over  you,  and  I  can  tell 
you  what  he  is,  but  I  have  no  power  to  undeceive  your 
father.  If  I  were  to  attempt  it  it  would  do  no  good,  he 
would  not  believe  me,  and  it  would  break  his  heart  to  see 
you  renounce  so  promising  an  union.  On  the  other  hand, 
you  must  understand  that  when  the  devil  wooes  a  maiden 
in  this  form  he  does  not  suddenly  after  appear  with  horns 
and  hoofs  and  carry  her  off  to  brimstone  and  fire.  For  the 
term  of  your  life  he  will  behave  with  average  kindness  and 
affection,  and  he  will  abundantly  supply  you  with  the  good 
things  of  this  world.  After  that  I  need  not  say  what  the 
effect  of  his  power  over  you  will  be.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  you  give  him  up  you  must  be  prepared  to  undergo 
many  trials  and  privations.  It  is  not  merely  going  on 
with  your  present  life  such  as  it  has  been  up  till  now. 
Those  peaceful  days  are  allowed  for  youthful  strength  to 
mature,  but  now  the  time  has  come  that  you  have  to  make 
a  life-choice.  What  do  you  say  ?  Have  you  courage  to 
renounce  the  ease  and  enjoyment  the  prince  has  to  offer 
you  and  face  poverty,  with  the  want  and  the  insults  which 
come  in  its  train  ? ' 

Poor  little  Maria  looked  very  serious.     She  had  never 


7  2  Favole. 

felt  any  great  attraction  for  the  prince,  it  is  true,  but  now 
the  question  was  placed  upon  a  new  issue.  She  had  learnt 
enough  about  duty  and  sacrifice,  and  she  had  always  in- 
tended to  do  right  at  all  costs,  but  now  that  the  day  of 
trial  had  come  it  seemed  so  different  from  what  she  had 
expected,  she  knew  not  what  to  say. 

'  You  are  tired  to-night,  my  child  ;  and  it  is  late,'  said 
the  teacher.  '  We  will  say  no  more  till  the  morning.  I 
will  wake  you  betimes  and  you  shall  tell  me  your  mind 
then.' 

In  the  morning  Maria's  mind  was  made  up.  She  had 
chosen  the  good  part ;  but  how  was  she  to  be  delivered 
from  the  prince  ? 

'  This  is  what  you  will  have  to  do,'  replied  the  teacher, 
after  commending  her  good  resolution.  '  I  have  had  made 
ready  for  you  a  wooden  figure  of  an  old  woman,  inside 
which  I  will  stow  away  all  that  you  have  valuable,  for  it 
may  be  of  use  some  day,  but  especially  I  will  bestow  there 
the  dresses  woven  of  the  stars  of  heaven,  of  moonbeams, 
and  that  of  sunbeams,  which,  I  doubt  not,  the  prince  will 
bring  you,  according  to  promise,  in  the  morning.  When 
you  have  driven  with  him  in  his  carriage  all  day,  towards 
evening  you  will  find  yourself  in  a  thick  wood.  Say  to 
him  you  are  tired  with  sitting  in  the  carriage  all  day,  and 
ask  to  be  allowed  to  walk  a  little  way  in  the  wood  before 
sundown.  I,  meantime,  will  place  ready  my  wooden 
figure  of  an  old  woman,  which  you  will  find  there,  and, 
watching  for  a  moment  when  he  has  his  head  turned, 
place  yourself  inside  the  figure  and  walk  away.  There  is 
another  thing  which  you  must  do,  which  is  very  important. 
When  the  ring  was  lost,  you  must  know  it  was  he  who 
took  it,  and,  though  he  kept  it  studiously  concealed  all 
the  while  he  was  in  your  father's  palace,  he  will  now 
carry  it  boldly  slung  on  the  feather  in  his  cap ;  this  you 
must  find  means  of  possessing  yourself  of  during  the  jour- 
ney, because  it  is  essential  to  you  that  you  should  have  it 


Maria  Wood.  73 

in  your  own  hands.  And  fear  nothing  either,  in  making 
your  escape,  for  the  ring  is  your  own  property,  which  he 
has  falsely  taken ;  and,  in  leaving  him,  remember  he  can 
have  no  power  over  you  against  your  will.  I  may  not 
inform  you  what  may  befall  you  in  your  new  character  as 
poor  Maria  Wood,  but  be  good  and  courageous  ;  always, 
as  now,  choose  the  right  bravely  in  all  questions  and 
doubts,  and  you  shall  not  go  unrewarded.' 

There  was  little  time  for  leave-taking  between  the 
good  teacher  and  her  affectionate  pupil,  for  the  prince 
almost  immediately  after  came  to  claim  his  bride,  and  all 
the  neighbours  and  friends  came,  too,  to  the  festivities. 
The  dress  woven  of  sunbeams  was  brought  by  four-and- 
twenty  pages,  for  it  was  so  dazzling  they  could  not  hold  it 
for  more  than  five  minutes  at  a  time,  and  they  had  to  carry 
it  by  relays. 

At  last  leave-takings  and  festivities  were  over,  and, 
amid  the  good-wishes  and  blessings  of  all,  Maria  drove 
away  in  the  prince's  carriage.  On  they  drove  all  day, 
and  towards  the  end  of  it,  as  it  was  getting  dark,  Maria 
contrived  to  twitch  the  ring  from  the  prince's  cap  with- 
out his  being  aware  of  it ;  presently  after  she  exclaimed, 
'  Oh  dear !  how  cramped  I  feel  from  sitting  all  day  in 
this  carriage ;  cannot  I  walk  a  little  way  in  this  wood 
before  it  gets  dark  ? ' 

'Most  certainly  you  can,  if  you  wish,'  replied  the 
prince,  who,  having  everything  his  own  way,  was  in  a  veiy 
accommodating  humour. 

When  they  had  walked  a  little  way  down  the  forest- 
path,  Maria  espied  the  wooden  form  she  was  to  assume, 
placed  ready  under  a  tree. 

'  That  old  woman  will  have  a  longish  way  to  go  to  get 
a  night's  shelter,  I  fancy,'  exclaimed  the  prince,  with  a 
laugh  which  made  Maria  shudder,  both  from  its  heartless- 
ness  and  also  because  it  reminded  her  that  she  would 
soon  find  herself  alone,  far  from  shelter,  in  that  dark  wood. 


74  Favole. 

But  was  it  not  better  to  be  alone  in  the  dark  than  in 
such  company  as  that  she  was  about  to  leave,  she  said 
to  herself.  Then  she  turned  once  more  to  look  at  it. 
The  figure  looked  so  natural  she  could  not  forbear  saying 
mechanically,  '  Poor  old  woman  !  give  me  a  little  coin  to 
bestow  on  her  that  she  may  wish  us  Godspeed  on  our 
night-journey.' 

4  Nonsense ! '  replied  the  prince.  '  Never  let  me  hear 
you  talk  such  idle  stuff.  And,  come,  it  is  time  to  go 
back  into  the  carriage ;  it  is  getting  quite  dark.' 

'  Oh  !  what  a  beautiful  firefly  ! '  exclaimed  Maria, 
reminded  by  the  speech  to  hasten  her  separation  from  her 
uncongenial  companion,  '  Oh,  do  catch  it  for  me  ! ' 

The  prince  lifted  his  cap,  and  ran  a  few  steps  after  the 
insect.  '  Oh,  I  see  another,  and  I  shall  catch  it  before 
you  catch  yours — you'll  see ! '  So  saying,  she  darted  towards 
the  tree  where  the  wooden  figure  stood  ready,  and  placing 
herself  inside,  walked  slowly  and  freely  along,  counterfeit- 
ing the  gait  of  an  aged  and  weary  woman. 

The  prince  had  soon  caught  the  firefly  and  was  bring- 
ing it  back  in  triumph,  when,  to  his  dismay,  Maria  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  ran  this  way  and  that,  called 
and  shouted  in  vain.  The  servants  with  the  carriage 
were  too  far  off  to  have  seen  anything ;  there  was  no 
witness  to  appeal  to  but  the  old  woman. 

'  Which"  way  did  the  young  lady  run  who  was  walking 
with  me  just  now  ? '  he  eagerly  inquired. 

'  Down  that  path  there  to  the  right,  as  fast  as  the  fire- 
fly itself  could  fly,  and  if  she  comes  back  as  quickly  as 
she  went  she  will  be  back  presently,'  replied  Maria  Wood, 
feigning  the  voice  of  an  old  woman. 

The  prince  ran  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  was 
soon  himself  lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  forest,  where  he 
wandered  hopelessly  all  night ;  and  only  when  the  morning 
light  came  was  he  able  to  make  his  way  back  to  his  car- 
riage, and  drive  home  ashamed  and  crestfallen,  giving  up 


Maria  Wood.  75 

his  conquest  in  despair,  and  vowing  useless  vengeance 
against  the  fairy  godmother,  whose  intervention  he  now 
recognised  it  was  had  baffled  him. 

Maria  meantime  walked  steadily  and  fearlessly 
along,  guided  by  the  stars  which  peeped  here  and  there 
through  the  tall  trees.  Nor  was  shelter  so  far  off  as  the 
prince  had  said.  Before  very  long  a  party  of  charcoal- 
burners  hailed  her.,  and  offered  a  share  of  such  poor 
hospitality  as  they  could  command.  It  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  comforts  of  her  father's  house  ;  but  Maria 
took  it  as  the  first  instalment  of  the  hardships  she  had 
accepted.  •  . 

Maria's  wooden  form  was  very  skilfully  made;  the 
limbs  had  supple  joints,  which  could  be  moved  by  the 
person  inside  just  like  those  of  a  living  being;  and  the 
clothes  the  teacher  had  provided  being  just  like  those  of 
the  country  people  about,  no  one  entertained  the  least 
suspicion  that  Maria  Wood,  as  she  had  now  become,  was 
anything  different  from  themselves. 

The  charcoal-burners  were  kind,  simple  people,  and, 
finding  Maria  willing  to  assist  them  in  their  labours  to 
the  extent  of  her  powers,  proposed  to  her  to  stay  and 
cast  in  her  lot  with  them  as  long  as  the  season  for  their 
work  lasted;  and  she  did  their  hard  work  and  shared 
their  poor  fare  with  never  a  word  of  complaint. 

At  last,  one  day,  when  she  was  on  I  know  not  what 
errand,  at  some  distance  from  the  encampment,  the  young 
king  of  the  country,  who  had  lately  been  called  to  the 
throne,  came  through  the  forest  hunting,  with  a  large 
retinue  of  followers.  Crash,  crash,  like  thunder,  went  the 
brushwood  as  the  wild  boar  trampled  it  down,  and  the 
eager  dogs  bounded  after  him  with  lightning  speed. 
They  passed  close  to  Maria,  who  was  as  much  alarmed  as 
if  she  had  really  been  the  old  woman  she  seemed  to  be : 
but  when  she  saw  the  riders  bearing  down  upon  her,  their 
horses'  hoofs  tearing  up  the  soil,  and  the  branches  every- 


76  Favole. 

where  giving  way  before  their  impetuosity,  her  heart 
failed  her  entirely,  and  she  swooned  away  upon  the  grass. 
The  king,  however,  was  the  only  one  whose  course  passed 
over  the  spot  where  she  was,  and  he  only  perceived  her  in 
time  to  rein  up  his  mount  just  before  it  might  have 
trampled  on  her. 

'  See  here  to  this  old  body,  whom  we  have  nearly 
frightened  to  death,'  he  cried ;  and  the  huntsmen  came 
and  lifted  her  up. 

*  Some  of  you  carry  her  home  to  the  palace,  that  she 
may  be  attended  to,'  said  the  king  further ;  and  they 
carried  her  home  to  the  palace,  and  laid  her  on  a  bed,  and 
restored  her  senses. 

When  the  king  came  home  from  the  hunt,  he  would 
go  himself  to  see  how  it  had  fared  with  her ;  and  when  he 
found  her  almost  restored  he  asked  her  whither  she  would 
wish  to  be  sent. 

4  Little  it  matters  to  me  where  I  go,'  replied  Maria 
Wood,  in  the  saddened  voice  of  grief-stricken  age ;  '  for 
home  and  kindred  have  I  none.  Little  it  matters  where 
I  lay  my  weary  bones  to  rest.' 

When  the  king  heard  her  speak  thus  he  compassionated 
her,  and  inquired  if  there  was  any  service  in  the  household 
that  could  be  offered  her. 

4  Please  your  Majesty,  there  is  not  much  strength  in  her 
for  work,'  replied  the  steward ;  '  but,  if  such  is  your  royal 
will,  she  can  be  set  to  help  the  scullions  in  the  kitchen.' 

4  Will  that  suit  you,  old  dame  ?  '  inquired  the  king. 
'  They  shall  not  ask  too  much  of  you,  and  a  good  table 
and  warm  shelter  shall  never  be  wanting.' 

'  All  thanks  to  your  Majesty's  bounty.  My  heart 
could  desire  nothing  more  than  to  live  thus  under  the 
shadow  of  your  Majesty,'  replied  Maria,  making  a  humble 
obeisance. 

And  thus  Maria,  from  a  princess,  became  a  servant 
of  servants. 


Maria  Wood.  77 

'  What's  the  use  of  giving  us  such  a  cranky  old  piece 
as  that  for  a  help  ? ;  said  the  scullion  to  the  turnspit,  as 
Maria  was  introduced  to  her  new  quarters. 

'  Why,  as  to  that,  as  she  has  taken  the  service  she 
must  do  it,  cranky  or  not  cranky,'  answered  the  turnspit. 

'  Aye,  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  able  to  get  it  out  of  her 
one  way  or  another,'  replied  the  scullion. 

And  they  did  get  it  out  of  her ;  and  Maria  had  more 
put  upon  her,  and  less  of  kind  words  and  scarcely  better 
food  than  with  the  charcoal-burners.  But  she  took  it  all 
in  silence  and  patience,  and  no  complaint  passed  her  lips. 
She  had  no  fixed  duties,  but  one  called  her  here  and 
another  there ;  she  was  at  everyone's  bidding,  but  she 
did  her  best  to  content  them  all. 

Then  came  the  Carneval ;  and  on  the  last  three  days 
every  servant  had  license  to  don  a  domino  and  dance  at 
the  king's  ball.  What  an  opportunity  for  Maria  Wood ! 
After  serving  in  her  unbecoming  disguise  with  so  much 
endurance  and  perseverance  for  now  a  full  year,  here 
was  one  day  on  which  she  might  wear  a  becoming  dress, 
and  enjoy  herself  according  to  the  measure  of  her  age  and 
sex,  and  due  position  in  the  world. 

All  the  household,  all  royal  as  it  was,  was  in  a  hubbub 
of  confusion.  No  one  was  at  work — no  one  at  his  post ; 
and  there  was  no  one  to  notice  that  Maria  Wood  was 
absent,  like  the  rest. 

Locking  herself  into  the  loft  which  served  her  for  a 
sleeping-place,  Maria  not  only  came  out  of  her  wooden 
disguise,  but  took  out  of  it  the  garment  woven  of  the  stars 
of  heaven — a  most  convenient  dress  for  the  occasion.  At  a 
masqued  ball  no  one  can  recognise  anybody  else,  except  by 
a  guess  suggested  by  familiar  characteristics  which  the 
domino  fails  to  disguise.  But  no  one  at  the  king's  court 
was  familiar  with  the  characteristics  of  Maria  Wood; 
and  wherever  she  passed  the  whole  company  was  in  an 
excitement  to  know  whose  was  the  elegant  figure  shrouded 


78  Favole. 

in  such  a  marvellous  costume.  But  there  was  so  much 
majesty  in  her  air,  that  no  one  durst  ask  her  to  dance  or 
so  much  as  approach  her. 

Only  the  king  himself  felt  conscious  of  the  right  to 
offer  to  lead  her  to  the  dance ;  and  she,  who  had  not  for- 
gotten how  handsome  he  was,  and  how  kind  he  had  been  on 
the  night  that  his  huntsmen  had  nearly  frightened  her  to 
death  in  the  forest,  right  willingly  accepted  the  favour. 
But  even  he  was  so  awed  by  her  grace  and  dignity,  that, 
charmed  as  he  was  with  her  conversation,  and  burning  to 
know  her  style  and  title,  he  yet  could  not  frame  the  ques- 
tion that  would  ascertain  whence  she  had  come. 

Very  early  in  the  evening,  while  the  other  masquers 
reckoned  the  amusement  was  only  beginning,  Maria,  with 
characteristic  moderation,  chose  an  opportunity  for  with- 
drawing unperceived  from  the  ballroom. 

It  will  readily  be  imagined  that  the  next  night  every 
one  was  full  of  curiosity,  and  the  king  most  of  all,  to 
know  whether  the  lady  in  the  starry  dress  would  appear 
again  ;  and  the  more  that,  though  everybody  had  been 
talking  of  her  to  the  exclusion  of  everyone  else  the  whole 
intervening  day  through,  no  one  could  offer  a  satisfactory 
conjecture  as  to  who  she  could  possibly  be. 

While  all  eyes  were  full  of  expectation,  accordingly, 
the  second  evening,  suddenly  and  unannounced  there  ap- 
peared in  their  midst  a  form,  graceful  and  mobile  like 
hers  they  had  so  much  admired,  but  draped  in  a  still 
more  dazzling  dress  (for  Maria  this  night  wore  her 
garment  woven  of  moonbeams) ;  and  it  was  only  the  king 
who  had  the  certainty  that  it  was  really  the  same  person. 

c  Why  did  you  take  away  all  the  light  of  our  ball  so 
early  last  night  ? '  inquired  the  king,  as  they  were  dancing 
together. 

'  I  have  to  be  up  early,  and  so  I  must  go  to  bed  early,' 
replied  Maria. 

'  And  what  can  a  sylph-like  creature  like  you  have  to 


Maria  Wood.  79 

get  up  early  in  the  morning  for  ?  You  are  only  fit  to  lie 
on  a  bed  of  roses,  with  nightingales  to  sing  to  you,'  pur- 
sued the  king. 

'  My  occupations  are  very  different,  I  can  assure  your 
Majesty,'  said  Maria,  with  a  hearty  laugh. 

'  What  can  those  occupations  possibly  be  ?  '  inquired 
the  king  eagerly ;  '  I  am  dying  to  know.' 

'  Oh,  fie  !  You  must  not  ask  a  domino  such  a  direct 
question  as  that ;  it  is  as  bad  as  asking  her  name,  and  that 
is  against  all  rules.  But  see,  the  dancers  await  your 
Majesty  ;  we  are  putting  them  all  out.' 

Thus  she  put  him  off,  and  she  fenced  so  well  that  he 
succeeded  no  better  in  searching  out  the  mystery  in  all  his 
subsequent  attempts.  Though  he  had  determined,  too, 
never  to  leave  her  side  all  the  evening,  that  he  might  cer- 
tainly observe  which  way  she  went,  she  was  so  alert  that 
she  defeated  his  plans.  Kings  have  a  certain  etiquette  to 
observe,  even  at  a  Carneval  ball ;  and  while  social  exigen- 
cies demanded  that  he  should  bestow  a  salute  on  one  and 
another  of  the  distinguished  personages  present,  Maria 
contrived  to  gather  her  shining  raiment  round  her  so  as 
to  invert  its  dazzling  folds,  and  glide  away  unperceived. 

The  king  was  beside  himself  with  vexation  when  he 
found  she  was  gone  ;  nor  could  he  sleep  all  the  succeeding 
night,  or  rather  those  hours  which  must  be  stolen  out  of  the 
day  to  make  a  night  of  when  the  real  night  has  been  spent 
in  revels.  One  thought  occupied  him,  which  was  that  the 
succeeding  night  was  the  last  in  which  he  could  expect  to 
have  the  chance  of  obtaining  an  explanation  from  his  fair 
partner  of  the  dance.  The  next  day  began  the  gloom  of 
Lent,  and  she  would  disappear  from  his  sight  for  ever.  He 
arranged  in  his  head  a  dozen  forms  of  conversation  by  which 
to  entrap  her  into  some  admission  by  which  he  could  find 
out  who  she  could  possibly  be  ;  he  determined  to  be  more 
vigilant  than  ever  in  observing  her  movements ;  and, 
to  provide  against  every  possible  chance  of  failure,  he 


8o  Favole. 

stationed  guards  at  every  exit  of  the  ballroom,  with  strict 
orders  to  follow  her  when  she  passed. 

In  the  midst  of  the  ball  on  the  third  night  Maria 
entered  more  radiant  than  ever,  having  on  her  dress 
woven  of  sunbeams.  The  masquers  put  their  hands  up  to 
shade  their  eyes  as  she  passed,  and  the  chandeliers  and 
torches  were  paled  by  its  brilliance.  The  king  was  at 
her  side  immediately,  but  though  he  put  in  requisition 
all  the  devices  he  had  prepared,  Maria  succeeded  in  evading 
them  all,  and  the  evening  passed  away  without  his  being 
a  bit  wiser  about  how  to  see  more  of  her  than  he  had  been 
at  the  beginning.  The  only  thing  that  gave  him  a  little 
hope  that  she  did  not  mean  absolutely  to  abandon  him,  was 
that  in  the  course  of  the  evening  she  took  out  a  ring, 
which  she  told  him  had  never  fitted  anyone  yet,  and 
begged  him,  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  to  try  it  on  his 
hand ;  and  then  when  it  strangely  happened  that  it  fitted 
him  perfectly,  she  could  not  altogether  conceal  the  plea- 
sure it  seemed  to  give  her.  Nevertheless,  she  put  up  the 
ring  again,  and  wo, .Id  give  no  further  explanation  about 
it  any  more  than  about  herself. 

By-and-by,  choosing  her  moment  as  dexterously  as 
before,  she  made  her  escape  without  exciting  the  king's 
attention.  The  guards,  however,  were  all  expectation,  and 
notwithstanding  that  she  had  taken  the  precaution  of 
turning  the  sunbeams  inwards,  they  recognised  her,  and 
followed  softly  after  her  as  they  had  been  bidden.  Maria, 
however,  did  not  fail  to  perceive  they  were  following  her, 
and,  to  divert  their  attention,  took  off  a  string  of  precious 
pearls  she  wore  round  her  throat,  and,  unthreading  them 
on  the  ground,  escaped  swiftly  to  her  loft  while  the  guards 
were  occupied  in  gathering  up  the  treasure. 

The  king  was  disconsolate  beyond  measure  when  he 
found  that  all  his  schemes  were  foiled,  and  that  his  radiant 
maiden  had  passed  away  like  the  rays  in  which  she  was 
clothed,  leaving  only  darkness  and  weariness  for  him. 


Maria  Wood.  81 

So  disconsolate  he  grew  that  nothing  could  distract  him. 
He  would  no  more  occupy  himself  with  the  affairs  of  the 
state,  still  less  with  any  minor  occupations.  He  could  not 
bear  the  light  of  the  sun  because  its  beams  reminded  him 
of  his  loss,  and  he  dreaded  similarly  the  sight  of  the  moon 
or  the  stars,  but,  shut  up  in  a  dark  room  almost  hopeless, 
he  wept  the  weary  days  away. 

So  remarkable  a  change  in  the  habits  of  the  young 
king  became  the  subject  of  general  comment,  and  could 
not  fail  to  reach  the  ears  of  even  so  insignificant  a  menial 
as  Maria.  She,  indeed,  had  every  reason  to  hear  of  it, 
for  scarcely  could  the  afflicted  king  be  induced  to  take  the 
simplest  food,  and  the  attendants  of  the  kitchen  were  re- 
duced to  complete  inactivity.  Maria  was  no  longer  called 
hither  and  thither  at  everyone's  pleasure,  and  as  long  as 
this  inactivity  lasted  she  knew  the  king  was  still  of  the 
same  mind  about  herself.  But  at  last  the  talk  of  the 
kitchen  took  a  more  alarming  character ;  it  was  reported 
that  physicians  had  been  called  in,  and  had  pronounced 
that  unless  means  were  found  to  distract  him  his  state  of 
despondency  would  prove  fatal,  but  that  nothing  which 
had  been  tried  had  the  least  effect  in  rousing  him  from 
his  melancholy. 

Meantime  Lent  was  passing  away  and  Easter  was  close 
at  hand.  Maria  thought  she  might  now  be  satisfied 
with  his  constancy,  and  determined  to  take  the  step  which 
she  had  good  reason  to  believe  would  restore  all  his 
vigour. 

Accordingly,  while  the  cooks  and  scullions  were  all 
dispersed  about  one  thing  and  another,  she  went  into  the 
kitchen  and  made  a  cake,  into  which  she  put  the  ring, 
and  took  it  up  herself  to  the  queen-mother.  It  was  not 
very  easy  for  such  a  haggard  old  woman  to  obtain  ad- 
mission to  the  private  apartments,  but  when  she  declared 
she  had  come  about  a  remedy  for  the  king,  she  was  made 


82  Favole. 

welcome.  Having  thus  obtained  the  ear  of  the  queen- 
mother,  she  assured  her,  with  many  protestations,  that  if 
the  king  could  be  made  to  eat  the  whole  of  the  cake,  with- 
out giving  the  least  piece  of  it  to  anyone,  he  would  be 
immediately  cured.  But  that  if  he  gave  away  the  least 
piece  the  virtue  might  be  lost.  This  was  lest  he  should 
thus  give  away  the  ring  to  anyone.  The  ladies  waiting 
on  the  queen  laughed  at  the  old  woman's  pretensions,  and 
would  have  driven  her  away  with  contumely,  but  the 
queen  said :  '  Nay,  who  knows  but  there  may  be  healing 
in  it.  Experience  often  teaches  the  old  remedies  which 
science  has  failed  to  discover.' 

Then  she  dismissed  Maria  with  a  present,  and  took  the 
cake  in  to  the  king,  trying  to  amuse  him  with  the  old 
woman's  story ;  but  the  king  refused  to  be  amused,  and 
let  the  cake  be.  Only  as  he  took  no  notice  of  what  food 
he  ate,  and  they  gave  him  this  cake  for  all  his  meals,  he 
took  it  as  he  would  have  taken  anything  else  that  had 
been  set  before  him.  When  he  cut  it,  his  knife  struck 
against  something  hard,  and  when  he  had  pulled  this 
out,  he  found  it  was  the  very  ring  his  sylphlike  partner 
had  given  him  the  night  she  wore  the  dress  woven  of  sun- 
beams. 

At  the  sight  he  started  like  one  waking  from  a  trance. 

'  How  came  this  ring  here  ?  '  he  exclaimed  ;  and  the 
queen-mother,  who  had  stood  by  to  see  the  effect  of  the 
remedy,  replied, 

'  A  certain  old  woman,  whom  you  befriended  in  the 
forest  and  told  the  servants  to  shelter  in  the  palace, 
brought  me  the  cake,  saying  it  would  prove  a  remedy  for 
your  melancholy,  which  she  had  prepared  out  of  grati- 
tude.' 

'Let  her  be  called  instantly  hither,'  then  said  the 
king ;  and  they  went  to  fetch  Maria  Wood ;  but  Maria 
could  nowhere  be  found. 

The  king  was  at  this  announcement  very  nearly  re- 


Maria  Wood.  83 

lapsing  into  his  former  condition ;  but  the  idea  came  to 
his  mind  to  find  something  out  by  means  of  the  ring 
itself.  Therefore  he  summoned  together  all  the  gold- 
smiths, and  refiners,  and  alchemists  of  his  kingdom,  and 
bid  them  tell  him  the  history  of  the  ring. 

At  the  end  of  seven  days'  trial  the  oldest  of  the 
alchemists  brought  it  back  to  the  king  and  said  : 

'  We  find,  0  King,  that  this  ring  is  made  of  gold 
which  comes  from  afar.  Moreover,  that  the  workman- 
ship is  such  as  is  only  produced  in  the  kingdoms  of  the 
West,  and  the  characters  on  it  pronounce  that  its  owner  is 
a  princess  of  high  degree,  whose  dominions  exceed  greatly 
those  of  the  King's  Majesty  in  magnitude.' 

The  king  now  ordered  a  more  urgent  search  to  be 
made  for  Maria  Wood,  as  the  only  clue  by  which  to 
reach  the  fair  owner  of  the  ring;  and  Maria,  having 
heard  by  report  of  the  alchemists'  announcement,  thought 
it  was  time  to  let  herself  be  known.  Habiting  herself, 
therefore,  in  becoming  attire,  with  jewels  befitting  her 
rank,  with  all  of  which  the  fairy  had  amply  provided  her, 
she  entered  for  the  last  time  her  wooden  covering,  and 
went  up  to  the  king  in  answer  to  his  summons. 

'Come -hither,  good  woman,'  said  the  king  encourag- 
ingly ;  '  you  have  indeed  done  me  good  service  in  sending 
me  this  ring,  and  have  repaid  a  hundredfold  the  little 
favour  I  bestowed  on  you  in  taking  you  into  the  palace. 
If,  now,  you  will  further  bring  me  hither  her  to  whom  this 
ring  belongs,  or  take  me  where  I  may  find  her,  you  shall 
not  only  live  in  the  palace,  but  shall  live  there  in  royal 
state  and  luxury,  and  whatsoever  more  you  may  desire.' 

At  these  words  Maria  stepped  out  of  her  wooden  case, 
and  stood  before  the  king  in  all  her  youthful  beauty, 
telling  him  all  her  story. 

The  proofs  that  supported  it  were  sufficient  to  silence 
every  doubt ;  and  when  the  people  were  called  together  to 
celebrate  her  marriage  with  the  king,  the  whole  nation 
G  2 


84  Favole. 

hailed  her  accession  as  their  queen  with  the  greatest 
delight. 

Soon  after,  the  royal  pair  went  to  visit  Maria's  father, 
who  had  the  joy  of  knowing  that  his  child  was  really  well 
established  in  life.  They  stayed  with  him  till  he  died ; 
and  then  his  dominions  were  added  to  those  of  the  king, 
Maria's  husband.  Maria  did  not  forget  to  inquire  for  her 
good  mistress,  but  she  had  long  ago  gone  back  to  Fairy- 
land. 

SECOND    VERSION. 

Another  version  of  this,  differing  in  many  details,  was 
given  me  in  the  following  form.  The  former  was  from 
Loreto  ;  this,  from  Eome  itself. 

THEY  say,  there  was  a  king,  whose  wife,  when  she  came 
to  die,  said  to  him, 

'When  I  am  dead,  you  will  want  to  marry  again  ; 
but  take  my  advice  :  marry  no  woman  but  her  whose  foot 
my  shoe  fits.' 

But  this  she  said  because  the  shoe  was  under  a  spell, 
and  would  fit  no  one  whom  he  could  marry. 

The  king,  however,  caused  the  shoe  to  be  tried  on  all 
manner  of  women  ;  and  when  the  answer  always  was  that 
it  would  fit  none  of  them,  he  grew  quite  bewildered  and 
strange  in  his  mind. 

After  some  years  had  passed,  his  young  daughter, 
having  grown  up  to  girl's  estate,  came  to  him  one  day, 
saying, 

'  Oh,  papa  ;  only  think  !    Mamma's  shoe  just  fits  me  ! ' 

4  Does  it ! '  replied  the  simple  king ;  '  then  I  must 
marry  you.' 

'  Oh,  that  cannot  be,  papa,'  said  the  girl,  and  ran 
away. 

But  the  simple  king  was  so  possessed  with  the  idea 
that  he  must  marry  the  woman  whom  his  wife's  shoe  fitted, 
that  he  sent  for  her  every  day  and  said  the  same  thing. 


Maria  Wood.  85 

But  the  queen  had  not  said  that  he  should  marry  the 
woman  whom  her  shoe  fitted,  but  that  he  should  not  marry 
any  whom  it  did  not  fit. 

When  the  princess  found  that  he  persevered  in  his 
silly  caprice,  she  said  at  last, 

'  Papa,  if  I  am  to  do  what  you  say,  you  must  do  some- 
thing for  me  first.' 

'  Agreed,  my  child,'  replied  the  king ;  '  you  have  only 
to  speak.' 

'  Then,  before  I  marry,'  said  the  girl,  '  I  want  a  lot  of 
things,  but  I  will  begin  with  one  at  a  time.  First,  I  want 
a  dress  of  the  colour  of  a  beautiful  noontide  sky,  but  all 
covered  with  stars,  like  the  sky  at  midnight,  and  furnished 
with  a  parure  to  suit  it.' 3 

Such  a  dress  the  king  had  made  and  brought  to  her. 

*  Next,'  said  the  princess, '  I  want  a  dress  of  the  colour 
of  the  sea,  all  covered  with  golden  fishes,  with  a  fitting 
parure.' 

Such  a  dress  the  king  had  made,  and  brought  to  her. 

'  Next,'  said  the  princess,  '  I  want  a  dress  of  a  dark 
blue,  all  covered  with  gold  embroidery  and  spangled  with 
silver  bells,  and  with  a  parure  to  match.' 

Such  a  dress  the  king  had  made  and  brought  to  her. 

'  These  are  all  very  good,'  said  the  princess ;  '  but  now 
you  must  send  for  the  most  cunning  artificer  in  your 
whole  kingdom,  and  let  him  make  me  a  figure  of  an  old 
woman4  just  like  life,  fitted  with  all  sorts  of  springs  to 
make  it  move  and  walk  when  one  gets  inside  it,  just  like 
a  real  woman.' 

Such  a  figure  the  king  had  made,  and  brought  it  to 
the  princess. 

'  That  is  just  the  sort  of  figure  I  wanted,'  said  she ; 
'  and  now  I  don't  want  anything  more.' 

And  the  simple  king  went  away  quite  happy. 

As  soon  as  she  was  alone,  however,  the  princess 
packed  all  the  three  dresses  and  many  of  her  other 


86  Favole. 

dresses,  and  all  her  jewellery  and  a  large  sum  of  money, 
inside  the  figure  of  the  old  woman,  and  then  she  got  into 
it  and  walked  away.  No  one  seeing  an  old  woman  walk- 
ing out  of  the  palace  thought  she  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  princess,  and  thus  she  got  far  away  without  anyone 
thinking  of  stopping  her. 

On,  on,  on,  she  wandered  till  she  came  to  the  palace 
of  a  great  king,  and  just  at  the  time  that  the  king's  son 
was  coming  in  from  hunting. 

'  Have  you  a  place  in  all  this  fine  palace  to  take  in  a 
poor  old  body  ? '  whined  the  princess  inside  the  figure  of 
the  old  woman. 

*  No,  no  !  get  out  of  the  way  !  How  dare  you  come  in 
the  way  of  the  prince  ! '  said  the  servants,  and  drove  her 
away. 

But  the  prince  took  compassion  on  her,  and  called  her 
to  him. 

'  What's  your  name,  good  woman  ? '  said  the  prince. 

'Maria  "Wood  is  my  name,  your  Highness,'  replied 
the  princess. 

'  And  what  can  you  do,  since  you  ask  for  a  place  ? ' 

4  Oh,  I  can  do  many  things.  First,  I  understand  all 
about  poultry,  and  then ' 

i  That'll  do,'  replied  the  prince  ;  « take  her,  and  let 
her  be  the  henwife,5  and  let  her  have  food  and  lodging, 
and  all  she  wants.' 

So  they  gave  her  a  little  hut  on  the  borders  of  the 
forest,  and  set  her  to  tend  the  poultry. 

But  the  prince  as  he  went  out  hunting  often  passed 
by  her  hut,  and  when  she  saw  him  pass  she  never  failed  to 
come  out  and  salute  him,  and  now  and  then  he  would 
stop  his  horse  and  spend  a  few  moments  in  gossip  with  her. 

Before  long  it  was  Carneval  time ;  and  as  the  prince 
came  by  Maria  Wood  came  out  and  wished  him  a  '  good 
Carneval.'  6  The  prince  stopped  his  horse  and  said,  his 
young  head  full  of  the  pleasure  he  expected, 


Maria  Wood.  87 

'  To-morrow,  you  know,  we  have  the  first  day  of  the 
feast.' 

'  To  be  sure  I  know  it ;  and  how  I  should  like  to  be 
there  :  won't  you  take  me  ?'  answered  Maria  Wood. 

'  You  shameless  old  woman,'  replied  the  prince,  '  to 
think  of  your  wanting  to  go  to  afestino  7  at  your  time  of 
life  ! '  and  he  gave  her  a  cut  with  his  whip. 

The  next  day  Maria  put  on  her  dress  of  the  colour 
of  the  noontide  sky,  covered  with  stars  like  the  sky  at 
midnight,  with  the  parure  made  to  wear  with  it,  and 
came  to  the  feast.  Every  lady  made  place  before  her 
dazzling  appearance,  and  the  prince  alone  dared  to  ask 
her  to  dance.  With  her  he  danced  all  the  evening,  and 
fairly  fell  in  love  with  her,8  nor  could  he  leave  her  side ; 
and  as  they  sat  together,  he  took  the  ring  off  his  own 
finger  and  put  it  on  to  her  hand.  She  appeared  equally 
satisfied  with  his  attentions,  and  seemed  to  desire  no  other 
partner.  Only  when  he  tried  to  gather  from  her  whence 
she  was,  she  would  only  say  she  came  from  the  country  of 
Whipblow,9  which  set  the  prince  wondering  very  much,  as 
he  had  never  heard  of  such  a  country.  At  the  end  of  the 
ball,  the  prince  sent  his  attendants  to  watch  her  that  he 
might  learn  where  she  lived,  but  she  disappeared  so 
swiftly  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  tell  what  had  become 
of  her. 

When  the  prince  came  by  Maria  Wood's  hut  next  day, 
she  did  not  fail  to  wish  him  again  a  *  good  Carneval.' 

'  To-morrow  we  have  the  second  festino,  you  know,' 
said  the  prince. 

'  Well  I  know  it,'  replied  Maria  Wood ;  ' shouldn't  I  like 
to  go  !  Won't  you  take  me  ?  ' 

'  You  contemptible  old  woman  to  talk  in  that  way  ! ' 
exclaimed  the  prince.  «  You  ought  to  know  better  ! '  and 
he  struck  her  with  his  boot. 

Next  night  Maria  put  on  her  dress  of  the  colour  of  the 
sea,  covered  all  over  with  gold  fishes,  and  the  parure 


88  Favole. 

made  to  wear  with  it,  and  went  to  the  feast.  The  prince 
recognised  her  at  once,  and  claimed  her  for  his  partner 
all  the  evening,  nor  did  she  seem  to  wish  for  any  other, 
only  when  he  tried  to  learn  from  her  whence  she  was,  she 
would  only  say  she  came  from  the  country  of  Bootkick.10 
The  prince  could  not  remember  ever  to  have  heard  of  the 
Bootkick  country,  and  thought  she  meant  to  laugh  at  him; 
however,  he  ordered  his  attendants  to  make  more  haste 
this  night  in  following  her ;  but  what  diligence  soever 
they  used  she  was  too  swift  for  them. 

The  next  time  the  prince  came  by  Maria  Wood's 
hut,  she  did  not  fail  to  wish  him  again  a  '  good  Carneval.' 

'  To-morrow  we  have  the  last  festino  ! '  exclaimed  he, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness,  for  he  remembered  it  was  the  last 
of  the  happy  evenings  that  he  could  feel  sure  of  seeing  his 
fair  unknown. 

4  Ah !  you  must  take  me.  But,  what'll  you  say  if  I 
come  to  it  in  spite  of  you  ?  '  answered  Maria  Wood. 

'  You  incorrigible  old  woman  ! '  exclaimed  the  prince  ; 
'  you  provoke  me  so  with  your  nonsense,  I  really  cannot 
keep  my  hand  off  you  ; '  and  he  gave  her  a  slap. 

The  next  night  Maria  Wood  put  on  her  dress 
of  a  dark  blue,  all  covered  with  gold  embroidery  and 
spangled  with  silver  bells,  and  the  parure  made  to  wear 
with  it.  The  prince  constituted  her  his  partner  for  the 
evening  as  before,  nor  did  she  seem  to  wish  for  any  other, 
only  when  he  wanted  to  learn  from  her  whence  she  was, 
all  she  would  say  was  that  she  came  fromSlapland.11  This 
night  the  prince  told  his  servants  to  make  more  haste  in 
following  her,  or  he  would  discharge  them  all.  But  they 
answered,  'It  is  useless  to  attempt  the  thing,  as  no  mortal 
can  equal  her  in  swiftness.' 

After  this,  the  prince  fell  ill  of  his  disappointment, 
because  he  saw  no  hope  of  hearing  any  more  of  the  fair 
domino  with  whom  he  had  spent  three  happy  evenings, 
nor  could  any  doctor  find  any  remedy  for  his  sickness. 


Maria  Wood.  89 

Then  Maria  Wood  sent  him  word,  saying,  '  Though 
the  prince's  physicians  cannot  help  him,  yet  let  him  but. 
take  a  cup  of  broth  of  my  making,  and  he  will  imme- 
diately be  healed.' 

'  Nonsense  !  how  can  a  cup  of  broth,  or  how  can  any 
medicament,  help  me  ! '  exclaimed  the  prince.  '  There  is 
no  cure  for  my  ailment.' 

Again  Maria  Wood  sent  the  same  message  ;  but  the 
prince  said  angrily, 

'  Tell  the  silly  old  thing  to  hold  her  tongue  ;  she 
doesn't  know  what  she's  talking  about.' 

But  again,  the  third  time,  Maria  Wood  sent  to  him, 
saying,  «  Let  the  prince  but  take  a  cup  of  broth  of  my 
making,  and  he  will  immediately  be  healed.' 

By  this  time  the  prince  was  so  weary  that  he  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  refuse.  The  servants  finding  him  so 
depressed  began  to  fear  that  he  was  sinking,  and  they 
called  to  Maria  Wood  to  make  her  broth,  because,  though 
they  had  little  faith  in  her  promise,  they  knew  not  what 
else  to  try.  So  Maria  Wood  made  ready  the  cup  of  broth 
she  had  promised,  and  they  put  it  down  beside  the 
prince. 

Presently  the  whole  palace  was  roused ;  the  prince 
had  started  up  in  bed,  and  was  shouting, 

'  Bring  hither  Maria  Wood !  Quick  !  Bring  hither 
Maria  Wood ! ' 

So  they  ran  and  fetched  Maria  Wood,  wondering  what 
could  have  happened  to  bring  about  so  great  a  change  in 
the  prince.  But  the  truth  was,  that  Maria  had  put  into 
the  cup  of  broth  the  ring  the  prince  had  put  on  her 
finger  the  first  night  of  the  feast,  and  when  he  began  to 
take  the  broth  he  found  the  ring  with  the  spoon.  When 
he  saw  the  ring,  he  knew  at  once  that  Maria  Wood  could 
tell  where  to  find  his  fair  partner. 

'  Wait  a  bit !  there's  plenty  of  time  ! '  said  Maria, 
when  the  servant  came  to  fetch  her  in  all  haste  ;  and  she 


9O  Favole. 

waited  to  put  on  her  dress  of  the  colour  of  the  noontide 
sky. 

The  prince  was  beside  himself  for  joy  when  he  saw 
her,  and  would  have  the  betrothal  celebrated  that  very 
day. 

THIRD    VERSION. 

IN  another  version,  on  the  princess  refusing  to  do  what 
the  king  wishes,  he  sends  his  servants  to  take  her  to 
a  high  tower  he  has  out  in  the  Campagna,  and  bids 
them  carry  her  to  the  top  and  drop  her  down. 

They  take  her  there ;  but  have  not  the  heart  to  throw 
her  down.  In  a  corner  of  the  upper  story  of  the  tower 
they  see  a  large  case  or  press. 

'  Suppose  we  shut  her  up  in  this  great  press,  and  leave 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  open  Campagna,  a  long  way  off, 
to  the  providence  of  (rod  ?  It  will  be  better  than  killing 
her,'  says  one  of  them. 

'  We  have  nothing  against  the  plan,'  answered  the 
others ;  '  provided  we  take  her  so  far  that  she  cannot 
possibly  come  back  to  our  king's  country.' 

So  they  locked  her  up  in  the  great  box,  and  carried 
the  box  a  long,  long  way  out  in  the  open  Campagna, 
and  left  it  there  to  the  providence  of  G-od.  .1 

The  poor  princess  was  very  glad  to  have  escaped 
death  ;  but  she  felt  very  desolate  in  the  box.  As  she  was 
wondering  what  would  happen  to  her,  she  was  suddenly 
frightened  by  a  great  barking  of  dogs  round  the  box.  A 
king's  son  had  come  by  hunting,  and  his  dogs  had  smelt 
human  blood  in  the  box. 

'  Call  the  dogs  off,  and  let's  see  what's  in  the  box,' 
said  the  prince. 

So  they  opened  the  box ;  and  when  they  saw  the 
princess  inside,  they  saw  she  was  no  common  maiden,  for 
she  had  a  stomacher  and  earrings  of  brilliants.  So  they 
brought  her  to  the  prince,  and  she  pleased  him,  and  he 
married  her. 


La  Catuleliera.  91 

[This  way  of  introducing  the  box  incident  is  more  like 
Straparola's,  and  again  connects  this  group  with  the  former  one 
in  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  mention  it.] 

1  Maria  di  Legno. 

2  This  is  one  of  the  very  rare  instances  in  which  the  Devil  appears  in 
Koman  stories  in  this  kind  of  character,  so  common  in  Northern  popular 
tales. 

3  '  Colle  gioie  compagne.' 

4  '  Vecchiarella.' 
*  'Gallinara.' 

6  A  '  buon  carnevale '  chiefly  implies  the  wish  that  the  person  to  whom 
it  is  addressed  should  have  good  success  with  partners  at  the  balls,  &c. 

7  A  '  festino '  is  the  common   name  for  a  public  masqued  ball  com- 
mencing at   midnight.     There   are   three   principal   ones   in   the   Roman 
Carneval ;  in  other  parts  of  Italy,  where   the  Carneval  is  longer,   there 
are  probably  more.     It  is  also  called  '  Veglione,'  because  it  keeps  people 
awake  at  a  time  when  they  ought  to  be  in  bed. 

8  '  How  quick  princes  always  were  in  falling  in  love  in  those  days !  ' 
was  the  running  comment  of  the  narrator. 

9  To  understand  the   implied  satire  of  this  word   it  is   necessary   to 
observe  that  '  Frusta '  is  a  whip ;  thu  princess  therefore  says  she  came 
from  '  Frustinaia,'  Whip-blow. 

'•  '  Stivale,'  a  boot.  As  the  prince  had  struck  her  with  his  boot,  she 
says  she  comes  from  '  Stivalaia,'  Boot-kick. 

11  '  Schiaffaia  '  from  schiaffa,  a  slap.  The  prince  had  given  her  a  slap, 
so  she  says  she  comes  from  Slap-land. 


LA  CANDELIERA.1 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  king  who  wanted  to  make  his 
beautiful  young  daughter  marry  an  old,  ugly  king.  Every 
time  the  king  talked  to  his  daughter  about  this  marriage, 
she  cried  and  begged  him  to  spare  her ;  but  he  only  went 
on  urging  her  the  more,  till  at  last  she  feared  he  would 
command  her  to  consent,  so  that  she  might  not  disobey ; 
therefore  at  last  she  said  :  '  Before  I  marry  this  ugly  old 
king  to  please  you,  you  must  do  something  to  please  me.' 

4  Oh,  anything  you  like  I  will  do,'  replied  he. 

4  Then  you  must  order  for  me,'  she  replied,  '  a  splendid 


92  Favole. 

candelabrum,  ten  feet  high,  having  a  thick  stem  bigger 
than  a  man,  and  covered  all  over  with  all  kinds  of  orna- 
ments and  devices  in  gold.' 

'  That  shall  be  done,'  said  the  king ;  and  he  sent  for 
the  chief  goldsmith  of  the  court,  and  told  him  to  make 
such  a  candelabrum  ;  and,  as  he  was  very  desirous  that 
the  marriage  should  be  celebrated  without  delay,  he  urged 
him  to  make  the  candelabrum  with  all  despatch. 

In  a  very  short  space  of  time  the  goldsmith  brought 
home  the  candelabrum,  made  according  to  the  princess's 
description,  and  the  king  ordered  it  to  be  taken  into  his 
daughter's  apartment.  The  princess  expressed  herself 
quite  pleased  with  it,  and  the  king  was  satisfied  that  the 
marriage  would  now  shortly  take  place. 

Late  in  the  evening,  however,  the  princess  called  her 
chamberlain  to  her,  and  said  to  him :  '  This  great  awk- 
ward candlestick  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  I  wanted  ;  it  does 
not  please  me  at  all.  To-morrow  morning  you  may  take 
it  and  sell  it,  for  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  it.  You  may 
keep  the  price  it  sells  for,  whatever  it  is ;  but  you  had 
better  take  it  away  early,  before  my  father  gets  up.' 

The  chamberlain  was  very  pleased  to  get  so  great  a 
perquisite,  and  got  up  very  early  to  carry  it  away.  The 
princess,  however,  had  got  up  earlier,  and  had  placed  her- 
self inside  the  candlestick  ;  so  that  she  was  carried  out  of 
the  palace  by  the  chamberlain,  and  thus  she  escaped  the 
marriage  she  dreaded  so  much  with  the  ugly  old  king. 

The  chamberlain,  judging  that  the  king  would  be  very 
angry  if  he  heard  of  his  selling  the  splendid  candelabrum 
he  had  just  had  made,  did  not  venture  to  expose  it  for 
sale  within  the  borders  of  his  dominions,  but  carried  it  to 
the  capital  of  the  neighbouring  sovereign.  Here  he  set 
it  up  in  the  market-place,  and  cried,  '  Who'll  buy  my  can- 
delabrum ?  Who'll  buy  my  fine  candelabrum  ? '  When 
all  the  people  saw  what  a  costly  candelabrum  it  was,  no 
one  would  offer  for  it.  At  last  it  got  bruited  about  till  it 


La  Candeliera.  93 

reached  the  ears  of  the  son  of  the  king  of  that  country, 
that  there  was  a  man  standing  in  the  market-place,  offer- 
ing to  sell  the  most  splendid  candelabrum  that  ever  was 
seen ;  so  he  went  out  to  look  at  it  himself. 

No  sooner  had  the  prince  seen  it  than  he  determined 
that  he  must  have  it;  so  he  bought  it  for  the  price  of  three 
hundred  scudi,  and  sent  his  servants  to  take  it  up  into  his 
'  apartment.  After  that,  he  went  about  his  affairs  as  usual. 
In  the  evening,  however,  he  said  to  his  body-servant,  '  As  I 
am  going  to  the  play  to-night,  and  shall  be  home  late, 
take  my  supper  up  into  my  own  room.'  And  the  servant 
did  as  he  told  him. 

When  the  prince  came  home  from  the  play,  he  was 
very  much  surprised  to  find  his  supper  eaten  and  all  the 
dishes  and  glasses  disarranged. 

'  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? '  he  exclaimed,  calling 
his  servant  to  him  in  a  great  fury.  '  Is  this  the  way  you 
prepare  supper  for  me  ?  ' 

4 1  don't  know  what  to  say,  your  Eoyal  Highness,' 
stammered  the  man  ;  '  I  saw  the  supper  properly  laid 
myself.  How  it  got  into  this  condition  is  more  than  I 
can  say.  With  the  leave  of  your  Highness,  I  will  order 
the  table  to  be  relaid.' 

But  the  prince  was  too  angry  to  allow  anything  of  the 
sort,  and  he  went  supperless  to  bed. 

The  next  night  the  same  thing  happened,  and  the 
prince  in  his  displeasure  threatened  to  discharge  his 
servant.  The  night  after,  however,  his  curiosity  being 
greatly  excited  as  he  thought  over  the  circumstance,  he 
called  his  servant,  and  said  :  '  Lay  the  supper  before  I  go 
out,  and  I  will  lock  the  room  and  take  the  key  in  my 
pocket,  and  we  will  see  if  anyone  gets  in  then.' 

But,  though  this  is  what  he  said  outloud,  he  deter- 
mined to  stay  hidden  within  the  room  ;  and  this  is  "what 
he  did.  He  had  not  remained  there  hidden  very  long 
when,  lo  and  behold,  the  candelabrum,  on  which  he  had 


94-  Favok. 

never  bestowed  a  thought  since  the  moment  he  bought  it, 
opened,  and  there  walked  out  the  most  beautiful  princess 
he  had  ever  seen,  who  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  began 
to  sup  with  hearty  appetite. 

*  Welcome,  welcome,  fair  princess ! '  exclaimed  the 
astonished  prince.  'You  have  heard  me  from  within 
your  hiding-place  speaking  with  indignation  because  my 
meal  had  been  disturbed.  How  little  did  I  imagine  such 
an  honour  had  been  done  me  as  that  it  should  have  served 
you  I '  And  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and  they  finished  the 
meal  together.  When  it  was  over,  the  princess  went  away 
into  her  candelabrum  again  ;  and  the  next  night  the 
prince  said  to  his  servant :  '  In  case  anyone  eats  my  sup- 
per while  I  am  out,  you  had  better  bring  up  a  double 
portion.'  The  next  day  he  had  not  his  supper  only,  but 
all  his  meals,  brought  into  his  apartment ;  nor  did  he  ever 
leave  it  at  all  now,  so  happy  was  he .  in  the  society  of  the 
princess. 

Then  the  king  and  queen  began  to  question  about  him, 
saying :  '  What  has  bereft  our  son  of  his  senses,  seeing  that 
now  he  no  more  follows  the  due  occupations  of  his  years, 
but  sits  all  day  apart  in  his  room  ? ' 

Then  they  called  him  to  them  and  said :  '  It  is  not 
well  that  you  should  sit  thus  all  day  long  in  your  private 
apartments  alone.  It  is  time  that  you  should  bethink 
yourself  of  taking  a  wife.' 

But  the  prince  answered,  '  No  other  wife  will  I  have 
but  the  candelabrum.' 

When  his  parents  heard  him  say  this  they  said :  '  Now 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  is  mad ; '  and  they  spoke  no 
more  about  his  marrying. 

But  one  day,  the  queen-mother  coming  into  his  apart- 
ment suddenly,  found  the  door  of  the  candelabrum  open, 
and  the  princess  sitting  talking  with  the  prince.  Then 
she,  too,  was  struck  with  her  beauty,  and  said :  l  If  this 
is  what  you  were  thinking  of  when  you  said  you  would 


La  Candeliera.  95 

marry  the  candelabrum,  it  was  well  judged.'  And  she 
took  the  princess  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  the  presence 
of  the  king.  The  king,  too,  praised  her  beauty,  and  she 
was  given  to  the  prince  to  be  his  wife. 

And  the  king  her  father,  when  he  heard  of  the  alliance, 
he  too  was  right  glad,  and  said  he  esteemed  it  far  above 
that  of  the  ugly  old  king  he  wanted  her  to  have  married 
at  the  first. 

1  Among  the  licenses  which  Italians  take  with  the  terminations  of  their 
words,  not  the  least  is  altering  the  gender.  '  Candeliere '  (masc.),  otherwise 
'  candelliere,'  is  the  proper  form  ;  and  I  do  not  think  '  candeliera '  will  be 
found  in  any  dictionary  ;  but  as  the  story  requires  the  female  gender,  the 
word  is  readily  coined. 

[The  mode  of  telling  adopted  by  Roman,  narrators  makes 
a  way  out  of  the  difficulty  which  this  group  of  stories  presents  at 
first  sight  in  the  king  seeming  to  be  fated  by  supernatural  ap- 
pointment to  marry  his  daughter.  One  says,  '  the  queen  did  not 
say  he  was  to  marry  her  the  ring  fitted,  but  he  was  not  to  marry 
any  it  did  not  fit.'  The  other  says,  the  slipper  was  a  super- 
natural slipper,  and  would  not  fit  anyone  whom  he  could  marry. 
Whether  this  was  a  part  of  the  traditional  story  or  the  gloss  of 
the  repeater,  I  do  not  pretend  to  decide.  In  the  '  Candeliera,' 
though  similar  in  the  main,  this  difficulty  does  not  arise. 

My  Roman  narrators  seem  to  have  been  fonder  of  stories 
of  maidens  than  of  youths.  I  have  only  one  of  the  latter,  and 
by  no  means  an  uncommon  one,  to  set  off  against  all  the  Step- 
mother stories  of  the  former.  It,  however,  is  the  male  counterpart 
of  a  prolific  family  in  which  the  girls  figure  under  similar  circum- 
stances. Grimm  gives  several,  particularly  '  Frau  Holle,'  p.  104. 
Dr.  Dasent  gives  '  The  two  Stepsisters.'  In  the  Tales  of 
Italian  Tirol  are  two,  '  Colla  dollo  doi  sores'  and  '  Le  due 
sorelle.'  And  among  the  Russian  Tales,  'Frost,'  p.  214.  It  has 
also  been  connected  with  the  large  group  in  which  a  rich  brother 
(sometimes  the  elder,  sometimes  the  younger)  leaves  his  poor 
brother  to  starve,  and  ultimately  gets  terribly  punished  for 
enviously  grasping  at  the  poor  one's  subsequent  good  fortune : 
but  the  structure  of  these  is  very  different.] 


96  Favole. 


THE  TWO  HUNCHBACKED  BROTHERS.1 

THERE  was  once  a  man  who  had  one  son,  who  married  a 
widow  who  also  had  one  son,  and  both  were  hunchbacks. 
The  wife  took  very  good  care  of  her  own  son,  but  the  son 
of  her  husband  she  used  to  put  to  hard  work  and  gave  him 
scarcely  anything  to  eat.  Her  son,  too,  used  to  imitate 
his  mother,  and  sadly  ill-treat  his  stepbrother. 

After  treating  him  ill  for  a  long  time,  she  at  last  sent 
him  away  from  the  house  altogether. 

The  poor  little  hunchback  wandered  away  without 
knowing  where  to  go. 

On,  on,  on  he  went,  till  at  last  he  came  to  a  lonely  hut 
on  a  wide  moor.  At  his  approach  a  whole  host  of  little 
hunchbacks  came  out  and  danced  round  him,  chanting 
plaintively — 

Sabbato ! 
Domenica ! 

a  great  number  of  times.  At  last  our  little  hunchback 
felt  his  courage  stirred,  and,  taking  up  the  note  of  their 
chant,  chimed  in  with — 

Lunedi ! 

Instantly  the  dancing  ceased,  all  the  little  hunchback 
dwarfs  became  full-grown,  well-formed  men,  and,  what 
was  better  still,  his  own  hump  was  gone  too,  and  he  felt 
that  he,  too,  was  a  well-grown  lad. 

'  Grood  people,'  said  our  hunchback — now  hunchbacked 
no  more — '  I  thank  you  much  for  ridding  me  of  my  hump 
and  making  me  a  well-grown  lad.  Give  me  now  some 
work  to  do  among  you,  and  let  me  live  with  you.' 

But  the  chief  of  the  strange  people  answered  him  and 
said  :  '  This  favour  we  owe  to  you,  not  you  to  us ;  for  it 
was  your  chiming  in  with  the  right  word  on  the  right  note 
which  destroyed  the  spell  that  held  us  all.  And  in  testi- 


Tlie  Two  Hunchbacked  Brothers.  97 

mony  of  our  gratitude  we  give  you  further  this  little  wand, 
and  you  will  not  need  to  work  with  us.  Go  back  and 
live  at  home,  and  if  ever  anyone  beats  you  as  heretofore, 
you  have  only  to  say  to  it,  "At  'em,  good  stick!"2  and  you 
will  see  what  it  will  do  for  you.' 

Then  all  disappeared,  and  the  boy  went  home. 

4  So  you've  come  back,  have  you  ?  '  said  the  stepmother. 
'  What,  and  without  your  hump,  too !  Where  have  you 
left  that  ? ' 

Then  the  good  boy  told  her  all  that  had  happened, 
without  hiding  anything. 

'  Do  you  hear  that  ? '  said  the  stepmother  to  her  own 
son.  '  Now  go  you  and  get  rid  of  your  hump  in  the  same 
way.' 

So  the  second  hunchback  went  forth,  and  journeyed  on 
till  he  came  to  the  lonely  hut  on  the  moor. 

A  tribe  of  hunchbacks  came  out  and  danced  round 
him,  and  sung — 

Sabbato ! 
Domenica ! 
Lunedi! 

to  which  the  bad  son  of  the  stepmother  added  in  his  rough 
voice,  all  out  of  tune — 

Martedi! 

Immediately  all  the  hunchbacks  came  round  him  and 
gave  him  a  drubbing,  and  the  chief  of  them  stuck  on  him 
a  hump  in  front  as  well  as  behind. 

Thus  they  sent  him  home  to  his  mother. 

When  his  mother  saw  him  come  home  in  this  plight, 
she  turned  upon  the  stepson  and  abused  him  for  having 
misled  her  son  to  injure  him ;  and  both  mother  and  son 
set  upon  him  and  belaboured  him  after  their  wont.  But  he 
had  only  told  the  truth,  without  intention  to  deceive ;  and 
the  stepmother's  son  had  incurred  the  anger  of  the  dwarfs 
by  his  discordant  addition  to  their  chant.  So  the  first 
hero  took  out  his  wand  and  said,  '  At'  em,  good  stick  ! '  and 
H 


98  Favole. 

the  wand  flew  out  of  his  hand  and  administered  on  mother 
and  son  a  sounder  drubbing  than  that  they  had  themselves 
been  administering.  Ever  after  that  he  was  able  to  live 
at  home  in  peace,  for  everyone  was  afraid  to  injure  him 
because  of  the  power  of  his  stick. 

1  'I  due  Fratelli  Gobbi.' 

*  '  Bachettone  mena ! '  Perhaps  the  greatest  stumbling-block  in  the  -way 
of  acquiring  familiarity  with  the  art  of  conversing  in  Italian  is  the  capri- 
cious use  of  the  augmentative  and  diminutive  terminations  of  -words. 
Scarcely  any  substantive  or  adjective  comes  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  Italian 
without  qualifications  of  this  sort,  making  the  spoken  quite  different  from 
the  written  language.  A  foreigner  can  never  arrive  at  the  right  use  of 
these,  because  they  have  to  be  made  up  at  the  moment  of  use,  upon  no 
established  laws,  but  entirely  by  a  sort  of  instinctive  perception  of  fitness. 
At  Note  1  and  3  to  '  II  Poveretto,'  and  other  places,  I  have  given  some 
specimens  of  some  of  the  most  ordinary  of  these  transformations.  In 
the  instance  before  us,  '  bacchettone,'  from  'bacchetta,'  a  rod,  presents 
two  distinct  irregularities.  The  augmentative  of  a  feminine  noun  never 
ought  strictly  to  be  '  ona ;'  but  there  are  numerous  instances,  scarcely  to  be 
remembered  under  the  largest  practice,  in  which  a  feminine  noun  takes  a 
masculine  augmentative.  '  Bacchetta '  happens  to  be  one  of  these.  Next, 
the  addition  '  one '  would  ordinarily  express  that  the  thing  to  whose 
designation  it  was  added  was  particularly  big  ;  yet  in  this  instance  it  is 
applied  to  a  little  wand ;  it  is  clear,  therefore,  that  it  no  longer  means  '  big,' 
but  'singular,'  'remarkable*  in  some  way  or  other;  best  rendered  in 
English  by  '  good  stick.'  '  Menare,'  whence  '  mena,'  is  a  word  of 
many  meanings,  which,  though  they  may  be  all  traced  to  the  same  original 
idea,  must  not  be  confounded.  In  common  parlance,  as  in  the  present 
case,  it  means  to  beat ;  and  '  menar  moglie '  is  a  common  expression  too  ; 
but  it  does  not  mean  '  to  beat  your  wife,'  but  '  to  lead  home  a  wife,'  or,  as 
we  say,  to  'take  a  wife.'  The  primary  meaning  is  'to  lead;'  hence,  to 
govern  ;  hence,  to  govern  harshly ;  hence,  to  govern  with  violence ;  hence, 
to  spite,  to  beat.  One  sentence  in  which  it  is  used  recalls  a  capricious  use 
of  our  own  word  '  to  beat.'  '  Menar'  il  cane  per  1'aja '  (literally,  to  lead  the 
dog  all  about  the  threshing-floor),  answers  exactly  to  our  expression,  'to 
beat  about  the  bush '  in  talking.  '  Menare '  and  '  dimenare,  la  coda,'  is 
said  also  of  a  dog  wagging  his  tail.  On  the  other  hand,  '  menare  per  il 
naso*  (literally,  '  to  lead  one  by  the  nose"),  has  by  no  means  the  signi- 
fication those  words  bear  in  English,  but  implies  a  roundabout  way  of 
giving  an  account  of  anything. 

[Next  we  have  a  group  where  a  younger  sister  of  three 
comes  to  supernatural  good  fortune,  without  any  previous  envy 
or  ill-treatment  on  the  part  of  her  elders.] 


The  Dark  King.  99 


THE  DARK 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  poor  chicory-gatherer  who  went 
out  every  day  with  his  wife  and  his  three  daughters  to 
gather  chicory  to  sell  for  salad.  Once,  at  Carneval  time, 
he  said,  '  We  must  gather  a  fine  good  lot  to-day,'  and  they 
all  dispersed  themselves  about  trying  to  do  their  best. 
The  youngest  daughter  thus  came  to  a  place  apart  where 
the  chicory  was  of  a  much  finer  growth  than  any  she  had 
ever  seen  before.  '  This  will  be  grand ! '  she  said  to  herself, 
as  she  prepared  to  pull  up  the  finest  plant  of  it.  But  what 
was  her  surprise  when  with  the  plant,  up  came  all  the 
earth  round  it  and  a  great  hole  only  remained  ! 

When  she  peeped  down  into  it  timidly  she  was  further 
surprised  to  find  it  was  no  dark  cave  below  as  she  had 
apprehended,  but  a  bright  apartment  handsomely  furnished, 
and  a  most  appetising  meal  spread  out  on  the  table,  there 
was,  moreover,  a  commodious  staircase  reaching  to  the  soil 
on  which  she  stood,  to  descend  by. 

All  fear  was  quickly  overcome  by  the  pleasant  sight, 
and  the  girl  at  once  prepared  to  descend,  and,  as  no  one 
appeared,  to  raise  any  objection,  she  sat  down  quite  boldly 
and  partook  of  the  good  food.  As  soon  as  she  had  finished 
eating,  the  tables  were  cleared  away  by  invisible  hands, 
and,  as  she  had  nothing  else  to  do  she  wandered  about  the 
place  looking  at  everything.  After  she  had  passed  through 
several  brilliant  rooms  she  came  to  a  passage,  out  of  which 
led  several  store-chambers,  where  was  laid  up  a  good  supply 
of  everything  that  could  serve  in  a  house.  In  some  there 
were  provisions  of  all  sorts,  in  some  stuffs  both  for  clothes 
and  furniture. 

'  There  seems  to  be  no  one  to  own  all  these  fine  things,' 

said  the  girl.     '  What  a  boon  they  would  be  at  home  ! ' 

and  she  put  together  all  that  would  be  most  useful  to  her 

mother.     But  what  was  her  dismay  when  she  went  back 

H  2 


TOO 


Favole. 


to  the  dining-hall  to  find  that  the  staircase  by  which  she 
had  descended  was  no  longer  there  ! 

At  this  sight  she  sat  down  and  had  a  good  cry,  but  by- 
and-by,  supper-time  came,  and  with  it  an  excellent  supper, 
served  in  as  mysterious  a  way  as  the  dinner ;  and  as  a  good 
supper  was  a  rare  enjoyment  for  her,  she  almost  forgot 
her  grief  while  discussing  it.  After  that,  invisible  hands 
led  her  into  a  bedroom,  where  she  was  gently  undressed 
and  put  to  bed  without  seeing  anyone.  In  the  morning- 
she  was  put  in  a  bath  and  dressed  by  invisible  hands,  but 
dressed  like  a  princess  all  in  beautiful  clothes. 

So  it  all  went  on  for  at  least  three  months ;  every 
luxury  she  could  wish  was  provided  without  stint,  but 
as  she  never  saw  anyone  she  began  to  get  weary,  and  at 
last  so  weary  that  she  could  do  nothing  but  cry.  At  the 
sound  of  her  crying  there  came  into  the  room  a  great 
black  King.2  Though  he  was  so  dark  and  so  big  that 
she  was  frightened  at  the  sight  of  him,  he  spoke  very 
kindly,  and  asked  her  why  she  cried  so  bitterly,  and 
whether  she  was  not  provided  with  everything  she  could 
desire.  As  she  hardly  knew  herself  why  she  cried,  she 
did  not  know  what  to  answer  him,  but  only  went  on 
whimpering.  Then  he  said,  '  You  have  not  seen  half  the 
extent  of  this  palace  yet  or  you  would  not  be  so  weary  ; 
here  are  the  keys  of  all  the  locked  rooms  which  you  have 
not  been  into  yet.  Amuse  yourself  as  much  as  you  like 
in  going  through  them  ;  they  are  all  just  like  your  own. 
Only  into  the  room  of  which  the  key  is  not  among  these 
do  not  try  to  enter.  In  all  the  rest  do  what  you  like.' 

The  next  morning  she  took  the  keys  and  went  into  one 
of  the  locked  rooms,  and  there  she  found  so  many  things 
to  surprise  and  amuse  her  that  she  spent  the  whole  day 
there,  and  the  next  day  she  examined  another,  and  so  on 
for  quite  three  months  together,  and  the  locked  room  of 
which  she  had  not  the  key  she  never  thought  of  trying  to 
enter.  But  all  amusements  tire  at  last,  and  at  the  end  of 


The  Dark  King.  i  o  i 

this  time  she  was  so  melancholy  that  she  could  do  nothing 
but  cry.  Then  the  Dark  King  came  again  and  asked  her 
tenderly  what  she  wanted. 

'I  want  nothing  you  can  give  me,'  she  replied  this 
time.  '  I  am  tired  of  being  so  long  away  from  home.  I 
want  to  go  back  home.' 

'  But  remember  how  badly  you  were  clothed,  and  how 
poorly  you  fared,'  replied  the  Dark  King. 

'  Ah,  I  know  it  is  much  pleasanter  here,'  said  the  girl, 
'  for  all  those  matters,  but  one  cannot  do  without  seeing 
one's  relations,  now  and  then  at  least.' 

'  If  you  make  such  a  point  of  it,'  answered  the  Dark 
King,  '  you  shall  go  home  and  see  papa  and  mamma,  but 
you  will  come  back  here.  I  only  let  you  go  on  that 
condition.' 

The  arrangement  was  accepted,  and  next  day  she  was 
driven  home  in  a  fine  coach  with  prancing  horses  and 
bright  harness.  Her  appearance  at  home  caused  so  much 
astonishment  that  there  was  hardly  room  for  pleasure,  and 
even  her  own  mother  would  hardly  acknowledge  her ;  as 
for  her  sisters,  they  were  so  changed  by  her  altered  cir- 
cum^tances  and  so  filled  with  jealousy  they  would  scarcely 
speak  to  her.  But  when  she  gave  her  mother  a  large  pot 
of  gold  which  the  Dark  King  had  given  her  for  the  pur- 
pose, their  hearts  were  somewhat  won  back  to  her,  and 
they  began  to  ask  all  manner  of  questions  concerning 
what  had  befallen  her  during  her  absence.  So  much  time 
had  been  lost  at  first,  however,  that  none  was  left  for 
answering  them,  and,  promising  to  try  and  come  back  to 
them  soon,  she  drove  away  in  her  splendid  coach. 

Another  three  months  passed  away  after  this,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  she  was  once  more  so  weary,  her  tears  and 
cries  again  called  the  Dark  King  to  her  side. 

Again  she  confided  to  him  that  her  great  grief  was  the 
wish  to  see  her  friends  at  home.  She  could  not  bear  being 
so  long  without  them.  To  content  her  once  more  he 


IO2  Favole. 

promised  to  let  her  drive  home  the  next  day ;  and  the 
next  day  accordingly  she  went  home. 

This  time  she  met  with  a  better  reception,  and  having 
brought  out  her  pot  of  gold  at  her  first  arrival,  everyone 
was  full  of  anxiety  to  know  how  it  came  she  had  such 
riches  at  her  disposal. 

4  What  that  pot  of  money  ! '  replied  the  girl,  in  a  tone 
of  disparagement.  *  That's  nothing.  You  should  see  the 
beautiful  things  that  are  scattered  about  in  my  new 
home,  just  like  nothing  at  all ; '  and  then  she  went  on 
to  describe  the  magnificence  of  the  place,  till  nothing 
would  satisfy  them  but  that  they  should  go  there  too. 

4  That's  impossible,'  she  replied.  '  I  promised  him  not 
even  to  mention  it.' 

4  But  if  he  were  got  rid  of,  then  we  might  come,' 
replied  the  elder  sisters. 

*  "What  do  you  mean  by  "  got  rid  of "  ? '  asked  the 
youngest. 

4  Why,  it  is  evident  he  is  some  bad  sort  of  enchanter, 
whom  it  would  be  well  to  rid  the  earth  of.  If  you  were 
to  take  this  stiletto  and  put  it  into  his  breast  when  he  is 
asleep,  we  might  all  come  down  there  and  be  happy  to- 
gether.' 

4  Oh,  I  could  never  do  that ! ' 

4  Ah,  you  are  so  selfish  you  want  to  keep  all  for  your- 
self. If  you  had  any  spirit  in  you,  you  would  burst  open 
that  locked  door  where,  you  may  depend  the  best  of  the 
treasure  is  concealed,  and  then  put  this  stiletto  into  the 
old  enchanter,  and  call  us  all  down  to  live  with  you.' 

It  was  in  vain  she  protested  she  could  not  be  so  un- 
grateful and  cruel;  they  over-persuaded  her  with  their 
arguments,  and  frightened  her  so  with  their  reproaches 
that  she  went  back  resolved  to  do  their  bidding. 

The  next  morning  she  called  up  all  her  courage  and 
pushed  open  the  closed  door.  Inside  were  a  number  of 
beautiful  maidens  weaving  glittering  raiment. 


T/te  Dark  King.  103 

*  What  are  you  doing  ? '  asked  the  chicory-gatherer. 

'  Making  raiment  for  the  bride  of  the  Dark  King 
against  her  espousals,'  replied  the  maidens. 

A  little  further  on  was  a  goldsmith  and  all  his  men 
working  at  all  sorts  of  splendid  ornaments  filled  with 
pearls  and  diamonds  and  rubies. 

'  What  are  you  doing  ?  '  asked  the  girl. 

'  Making  ornaments  for  the  bride  of  the  Dark  King 
against  her  espousals,'  replied  the  goldsmiths. 

A  little  further  on  was  a  little  old  hunchback  sitting 
crosslegged,  and  patching  an  old  torn  coat  with  a  heap 
of  other  worn-out  clothes  lying  about  him. 

'  What  are  you  doing  ? '  asked  the  maiden. 

'  Mending  the  rags  for  the  girl  to  go  away  in  who  was 
to  have  been  the  bride  of  the  Dark  King,'  replied  the 
little  old  hunchback. 

Beyond  the  room  where  this  was  going  on  was  a 
passage,  and  at  the  end  of  this  a  door,  which  she  also 
pushed  open.  It  gave  entrance  to  a  room  where,  on  a 
bed,  the  Dark  King  lay  asleep. 

'  This  is  the  time  to  apply  the  stiletto  my  sisters  gave 
me,'  thought  the  maiden.  '  I  shall  never  have  so  good  a 
chance  again.  They  said  he  was  a  horrid  old  enchanter  ; 
let  me  see  if  he  looks  like  one.' 

So  saying  she  took  one  of  the  tapers  from  a  golden 
bracket  and  held  it  near  his  face.  It  was  true  enough ; 
his  skin  was  black,  his  hair  was  grizly  and  rough,  his 
features  crabbed  and  forbidding. 

'  They're  right,  there's  no  doubt.  It  were  better  the 
earth  were  rid  of  him,  as  they  say,'  she  said  within  her- 
self;  and,  steeling  herself  with  this  reflection,  she  plunged 
the  knife  into  his  breast. 

But  as  she  wielded  the  weapon  with  the  right  hand, 
the  left,  in  which  she  held  the  lighted  taper,  wavered,  and 
some  of  the  scalding  wax  fell  on  the  forehead  of  the 
Dark  King.  The  dropping  of  the  wax  3  woke  him  ;  and 


104 


Favole. 


when  he  saw  the  blood  flowing  from  his  breast,  and  per- 
ceived what  she  had  done,  he  said  sadly, 

*  Why  have  you  done  this  ?  I  meant  well  by  you  and 
really  loved  you,  and  thought  if  I  fulfilled  all  you  desire, 
you  would  in  time  have  loved  me.  But  it  is  over  now. 
You  must  leave  this  place,  and  go  back  to  be  again  what 
you  were  before.' 

Then  he  called  servants,  and  bade  them  dress  her 
again  in  her  poor  chicory-gatherer's  dress,  and  send  her  up 
to  earth  again  ;  and  it  was  done.  But  as  they  were  about 
to  lead  her  away,  he  said  again, 

'  Yet  one  thing  I  will  do.  Take  these  three  hairs ; 
and  if  ever  you  are  in  dire  distress  and  peril  of  life  with 
none  to  help,  burn  them,  and  I  will  come  to  deliver 
you.' 

Then  they  took  her  back  to  the  dining-hall,  where  the 
staircase  was  seen  as  at  the  first,  and  when  they  touched 
the  ceiling,  it  opened,  and  they  pushed  her  through  the 
opening,  and  she  found  herself  in  the  place  where  she  had 
been  picking  chicory  on  the  day  that  she  first  found  the 
Dark  King's  palace. 

Only  as  they  were  leading  her  along,  she  had  con- 
sidered that  it  might  be  dangerous  for  her,  a  young  girl, 
to  be  wandering  about  the  face  of  the  country  alone,  and 
she  had,  therefore,  begged  the  servants  to  give  her  a 
man's  clothes  instead  of  her  own  ;  and  they  gave  her  the 
worn-out  clothes  that  she  had  seen  the  little  old  hunch- 
back sitting  crosslegged  to  mend. 

When  she  found  herself  on  the  chicory-bed  it  was  in 
the  cold  of  the  early  morning,  and  she  set  off  walking  to- 
wards her  parents'  cottage.  It  was  about  midday  when 
she  arrived,  and  all  the  family  were  taking  their  meal. 
Poor  as  it  was,  it  looked  very  tempting  to  her  who  had 
tasted  nothing  all  the  morning. 

'  Who  are  you  ? '  cried  the  mother,  as  she  came  up  to 
the  door. 


The  Dark  King.  105 

'  I'm  your  own  child,  your  youngest  daughter.  Don't 
you  know  me  ?  '  cried  the  forlorn  girl  in  alarm. 

'  A  likely  joke  ! '  laughed  out  the  mother  ;  '  my 
daughter  comes  to  see  me  in  a  gilded  coach  with  prancing 
horses  ! ' 

'  Had  you  asked  for  a  bit  of  bread  in  the  honest  cha- 
racter of  a  beggar,'  pursued  the  father,  '  poor  as  I  am,  I 
would  never  have  refused  your  weary,  woebegone  looks  ; 
but  to  attempt  to  deceive  with  such  a  falsehood  is  not  to 
be  tolerated  ; '  and  he  rose  up,  and  drove  the  poor  child 
away. 

Protests  were  vain,  for  no  one  recognised  her  under 
her  disguise. 

Mournful  and  hopeless,  she  wandered  away.  On,  on, 
on,  she  went,  till  at  last  she  came  to  a  palace  in  a  great 
city,  and  in  the  stables  were  a  number  of  grooms  and 
their  helpers  rubbing  down  horses. 

'  Wouldn't  there  be  a  place  for  me  among  all  these 
boys  ?  '  asked  the  little  chicory-gatherer,  plaintively.  '  I, 
too,  could  learn  to  rub  down  a  horse  if  you  taught  me.' 

'  Well,  you  don't  look  hardly  strong  enough  to  rub 
down  a  horse,  my  lad,'  answered  the  head-groom  ;  '  but 
you  seem  a  civil-spoken  sort  of  chap,  so  you  may  come 
in ;  I  dare  say  we  can  find  some  sort  of  work  for  you.' 

So  she  went  into  the  stable-yard,  and  helped  the 
grooms  of  the  palace. 

But  every  day  the  queen  stood  at  a  window  of  the 
palace  where  she  could  watch  the  fair  stable-boy,  and  at 
last  she  sent  and  called  the  head-groom,  and  said  to  him, 
'  What  are  you  doing  with  that  new  boy  in  the  stable- 
yard?' 

The  head-groom  said,  '  Please  your  Majesty  he  came 
and  begged  for  work,  and  we  took  him  to  help. 

Then  the  queen  said,  '  He  is  not  fit  for  that  sort  of 
work,  send  him  to  me.' 

So  the  chicory-gatherer  was  sent  up  to  the  queen,  and 


1 06  Favole. 

the  queen  gave  her  the  post  of  master  of  the  palace,  and 
appointed  a  fine  suite  of  apartments  and  a  dress  becoming 
the  rank,  and  was  never  happy  unless  she  had  this  new 
master  of  the  palace  with  her. 

Now  the  king  was  gone  to  the  wars,  and  had  been  a 
long  time  absent.  One  day  the  queen  said  to  the  master 
of  the  palace  that  very  likely  the  king  would  not  come 
back,  so  that  it  would  be  better  they  should  marry. 

Then  the  poor  chicory-gatherer  was  sadly  afraid  that 
if  the  queen  discovered  that  she  was  a  woman  she  would 
lose  her  fine  place  at  the  palace,  and  become  a  poor  beggar 
again  without  a  home ;  so  she  said  nothing  of  this,  but 
only  reasoned  with  the  queen  that  it  was  better  to  wait 
and  see  if  the  king  did  not  come  home.  But  as  she  con- 
tinued saying  this,  and  at  the  same  time  never  showed 
any  wish  that  the  king  might  not  come  back,  or  that 
the  marriage  might  take  place,  the  queen  grew  sorely 
offended,  and  swore  she  would  be  avenged. 

Not  long  after,  the  king  really  did  come  back,  covered 
with  glory,  from  the  wars.  Now  was  the  time  for  the 
queen  to  take  her  revenge. 

Choosing  her  opportunity,  therefore,  at  the  moment 
when  the  king  was  rejoicing  that  he  had  been  permitted 
to  come  back  to  her  again,  with  hypocritical  tears  she 
said, 

'  It  is  no  small  mercy,  indeed,  that  your  Majesty  has 
found  me  again  here  as  I  am,  for  it  had  well-nigh  been  a 
very  different  case.' 

The  king  was  instantly  filled  with  burning  indigna- 
tion, and  asked  her  further  what  her  words  meant. 

'  They  mean,'  replied  the  queen,  '  that  the  master  of 
the  palace,  on  whom  I  had  bestowed  the  office  only  be- 
cause he  seemed  so  simple,  as  you  too  must  say  he  looks, 
presumed  on  my  favour,  and  would  have  me  marry  him, 
urging  that  perad venture  the  king,  who  had  been  so 
long  absent  at  the  wars,  might  never  return.' 


The  Dark  King.  107 

The  king  started  to  his  feet  at  the  words,  placing  his 
hand  upon  his  sword  in  token  of  his  wrath ;  but  the 
queen  went  on : 

'  And  when  he  found  that  I  would  not  listen  to  his 
suit,  he  dared  to  assume  a  tone  of  command,  and  would 
have  compelled  me  to  consent ;  so  that  I  had  to  call  forth 
all  my  courage,  and  determination,  and  dignity,  to  keep 
him  back  ;  and  had  the  King's  Majesty  not  been  directed 
back  to  the  palace  as  soon  as  he  was,  who  knows  where  it 
might  have  ended  ! ' 

It  needed  no  more.  The  king  ordered  the  master  of 
the  palace  to  be  instantly  thrown  into  prison,  and  ap- 
pointed the  next  day  for  him  to  be  beheaded. 

The  chicory-gatherer  was  ready  enough  now  to  pro- 
test that  she  was  a  woman.  But  it  helped  nothing ;  they 
only  laughed.  And  who  could  stand  against  the  word  of 
the  queen  ? 

Next  day,  accordingly,  the  scaffold  was  raised,  and  the 
master  of  the  palace  was  brought  forth  to  be  beheaded, 
the  king  and  the  queen,  and  all  the  court,  being  pre- 
sent. 

When  the  chicory-gatherer,  therefore,  found  herself  in 
dire  need  and  peril  of  life,  she  took  out  one  of  the  hairs 
the  Dark  King  had  given  her,  and  burnt  it  in  the  flame 
of  a  torch.  Instantly  there  was  a  distant  roaring  sound 
as  of  a  tramp  of  troops  and  the  roll  of  drums.  Everyone 
started  at  the  sound,  and  the  executioner  stayed  his 
hand. 

Then  the  maiden  burnt  the  second  hair,  and  instantly 
a  vast  army  surrounded  the  whole  place ;  round  the 
palace  they  marched  and  up  to  the  scaffold,  and  so  to  the 
very  throne  of  the  king.  The  king  had  now  something 
to  think  of  besides  giving  the  signal  for  the  execution, 
and  the  headsman  stayed  his  hand. 

Then  the  maiden  burnt  the  third  hair,  and  instantly 
the  Dark  King  himself  appeared  upon  the  scene,  clothed 


loS  Favole. 

in  shining  armour,  and  fearful  in   majesty  and  might. 
And  he  said  to  the  king, 

'  Who  are  you  that  you  have  given  over  my  wife  to 
the  executioner  ? ' 

And  the  king  said, 

'Who  is  thy  wife  that  I  should  give  her  to  the 
executioner  ? ' 

The  Dark  King,  taking  the  master  of  the  palace  by 
the  hand,  said, 

'  This  is  my  wife.     Touch  her  who  dares  ! ' 

Then  the  king  knew  that  it  had  been  true  when  the 
master  of  the  palace  had  alleged  that  she  was  not 
guilty  of  the  charge  the  queen  had  brought  against  her, 
being  a  woman ;  and  seeing  clearly  what  had  been  the 
malice  of  the  queen,  he  ordered  the  executioner  to  behead 
her  instead,  but  the  chicory-gatherer  he  gave  up  to  the 
Dark  King. 

Then  the  Dark  King  said  to  the  chicory- gatherer, 

'  I  came  at  your  bidding  to  defend  you,  and  I  said 
you  were  my  wife  to  save  your  life  ;  but  whether  you  will 
be  my  wife  or  not  depends  on  you.  It  is  for  you  to  say 
whether  you  will  or  not.' 

Then  the  maiden  answered, 

'  You  have  been  all  goodness  to  me ;  ungrateful  indeed 
should  I  be  did  I  not,  as  I  now  do,  say  "  yes." ' 

As  soon  as  she  said  c  yes,'  the  earth  shook,  and  she  was 
no  longer  standing  on  a  scaffold,  but  before  an  altar  in  a 
splendid  cathedral,  surrounded  by  a  populous  and  flourish- 
ing city.  By  her  side  stood  the  Black  King,  but  black  no 
longer.  He  was  now  a  most  beautiful  prince ;  for  with  all 
his  kingdom  he  had  been  under  enchantment,  and  the 
condition  of  his  release  had  been  that  a  fair  maiden 
should  give  her  free  consent  to  marry  him.4 

1  'IlKeMoro.' 

2  '  Moro '  does  not  necessarily  mean  a  Moor,  it  is  continually  used  for 
any  dark-complexioned  person  ;  also  commonly  for  dark  or  black,  as  a  pet 
name  for  a  black  dog,  &c. 


Monsu  Mostro.  IOQ 

8  The  '  moccolaio.' 

4  The  narrator  ended  this  story  -with  the  following  stanza: — 
Si  faceva  le  nozze 
Con  pane  e  tozze, 
E  polla  vermiciosa, 
E  viva  la  sposa ! 

This  is  one  of  those  rough  verses  with  which  such  stories  abound,  and 
they  have  been  rendered  rougher  than  they  originally  were  by  substituting 
words  which  serve  to  retain  the  jingle  after  those  conveying  the  sense  are 
forgotten,  like  many  of  our  own  nursery-rhymes.  The  literal  rendering  of 
this  one  would  be,  'So  the  marriage  was  celebrated  with  bread  and 
hunches  of  bread,  and  a  chicken  stuffed  with  vermicelli.  Long  live  the 
bride!'  '  Vermiciosa'  is  not  a  dictionary  word;  '  vermicoloso '  is  the 
nearest,  and  probably  a  corruption  of  the  same.  Of  course,  primarily  it 
means  '  full  of  worms ; '  but  as  all  the  forms  of  words  compounded  out  of 
the  diminutive  of  '  verme,"  a  worm,  may  be  applied  to  the  fine  kind  of 
maccaroni  which  bears  the  same  name,  I  am  more  inclined  to  think  a  fowl 
stuffed  or  served  up  with  maccaroni  is  meant  here — if  it  have  any  meaning 
at  all  beyond  the  purpose  of  a  rhyme — rather  than  '  a  wormy  fowl,'  the 
literal  interpretation. 

I  have  met  this  same  '  tag '  again  and  again  in  the  mouths  of  various 
narrators  at  the  end  of  stories  which  end  in  a  marriage.     Another  such, 
familiarly  used  by  every  Roman  narrator,  is  : — 
'  Stretta  la  foglia, 

Larga  la  via  (often,  '  Stretta  la  via '), 
Dite  la  vostra,  Larga  la  foglia, 
Ch'  ho  detto  la  mia.' 

('  Narrow  the  leaf,  broad  the  way.  Tell  me  your  tale,  for  I've  told 
you  mine.')  Perhaps  originally  it  was  '  Larga  la  voglia '  (my  willingness  is 
ample,  but  my  means  of  amusing  you  are  restricted). 


MONSU  MOSTRO.1 

THERE  was  a  father  who  had  three  daughters,  and  when 
all  trades  failed,  he  said  he  would  go  and  gather  chicory, 
and  called  his  daughters  to  go  with  him.  But  it  was  a 
wet  day,  and  they  begged  to  be  left  at  home  ;  so  he  went 
alone. 

He  went  out  into  the  fields  till  he  came  to  a  place 
where  was  the  biggest  plant  of  chicory  that  ever  was  seen. 
'  That  will  do  for  me,'  he  said,  and  began  to  pull  it  up. 


1 1  o  Favole. 

Up  it  came  by  the  root  and  left  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and 
a  voice  came  up  through  the  hole,  and  said, '  Who's  there  ?  ' 

'Friends !  '2  answered  the  chicory-gatherer  ;  and  then 
One  sprang  up  through  the  hole  on  to  the  ground.  This 
was  Monsu  Mostro.  The  poor  man  was  rather  frightened 
at  his  aspect,  but  he  dared  say  nothing. 

4  Come  along  with  me,'  said  Monsu  Mostro  and  the 
poor  man  followed  till  they  came  to  a  palace  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  where  he  gave  him  a  horse  to  ride  home  upon  and 
a  heap  of  money.  *  I  give  you  all  this,'  said  Monsu 
Mostro  ;  4  but  you  must  give  me  one  of  your  daughters  in 
return.'  The  poor  man  was  too  frightened  to  refuse,  so 
he  said  he  would. 

When  he  came  home  all  his  three  daughters  came 
jumping  round  him  with  delight  at  seeing  him  come  home 
riding  on  horseback.  '  Papa !  papa ! 3  where  have  you 
been?  '  And  when  they  saw  what  a  lot  of  money  he  had 
brought  home,  their  questions  increased  tenfold.  But,  in 
spite  of  his  riches,  the  chicory-gatherer  did  not  seem 
in  good  spirits.  He  did  not  know  how  to  announce 
that  he  had  to  take  one  of  his  daughters  to  Monsu 
Mostro,  and  so  he  was  very  slow  at  answering  their  in- 
quiries. It  was  not  till  next  morning  that  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  break  this  dreadful  matter  ;  and  then,  when 
the  time  had  come  for  him  to  go  forth,  and  there  was  no 
putting  it  off  any  longer,  he  made  a  great  effort  and  said 
at  last,  '  I  have  found  a  husband  for  one  of  you ;  which 
shall  it  be?' 

4  Not  I ! '  said  the  eldest ;  '  I'm  not  going  to  marry  a 
husband  whom  I  havn't  seen.  Oibo ! ' 

4  Not  I ! '  said  the  second.  *  I'm  not  going  to  marry  a 
husband  whom  I  havn't  seen.  Oibo  ! ' 

4  Take  me,  papa  !  take  me  !  I'll  go  ! '  said  the  youngest. 
So  the  father  remounted  the  horse,  and  put  her  behind 
him.  Thus  they  arrived  at  the  palace  of  Monsu  Mostro, 
and  knocked. 


Monsu  Mostro.  1 1 1 

'  Who's  there  ? '  said  a  voice  within. 

'  Friends!'  answered  the  father;  and  they  were  shown  in. 

'  Here's  my  daughter,  as  I  promised,'  said  the  father. 

*  All  right ! '  said  Monsu  Mostro  ;  and,  giving  him 
another  large  sum  of  money,  sent  him  away. 

When  the  father  was  gone,  he  said  to  the  girl,  '  I'm 
not  going  to  marry  you  as  your  father  thought.  I  want 
you  to  do  the  service  of  the  house.  But  mind  when  there 
is  anyone  here  you  always  call  me  "  papa."  ' 

The  girl  promised  to  do  as  she  was  bid,  and  soon  after 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  some  hunters  who  had 
got  belated  in  the  Campagna  came  to  seek  hospitality. 

'  Let  them  in,  set  supper  before  them ;  and  give  them 
a  change  of  clothes,'  said  Monsu  Mostro  ;  and  the  girl  did 
as  she  was  bid.  While  they  were  at  supper  one  of  the 
huntsmen  kept  looking  at  her,  for  she  was  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  afterwards  he  asked  her  if  she  would  marry  him, 
for  he  was  the  king's  son.  '  Oh,  shouldn't  I  like  it  I '  said 
the  girl,  *  but  you  must  ask  papa.'  The  prince  asked 
Monsu  Mostro,  and  as  he  made  no  objection,  he  went  and 
fetched  a  great  cortege,  and  took  her  to  the  palace  to 
marry  her.  As  she  was  going  away  Monsu  Mostro  gave 
her  a  comb,  wrapped  up  in  paper,  and  said,  '  Take  care 
of  this,  and  don't  forget  you  have  got  it.'  The  girl  was  too 
full  of  her  happiness  to  pay  much  heed,  but  she  put  it  in 
her  bosom  and  went  away. 

As  she  drove  along,  a  pair  of  horns  like  a  cow's  began 
to  grow  on  her  head,  and  they  had  already  attained  a 
considerable  size  before  she  arrived  at  the  royal  palace. 
The  queen  was  horrified  at  her  appearance,  and  refused  to 
let  her  come  in.  'How  can  it  possibly  be  that  such  a 
beautiful  girl  should  have  all  of  a  sudden  got  a  pair 
of  horns  ? '  said  the  prince.  But  it  was  no  use  saying 
anything,  for  there  were  the  horns,  and  the  queen  was 
determined  that  she  should  not  be  admitted  into  the  royal 
palace. 


112 


Favole. 


The  prince  was  very  much  distressed,  and  would  on  no 
account  let  her  be  turned  adrift  as  the  queen  wished,  but 
sent  her  to  a  house  in  the  Campagna,  where  he  sent  a 
servant  every  day  to  ask  how  she  was,  and  to  take  her 
some  present,  but  also  to  observe  if  the  horns  had  not  per- 
chance gone  away  as  suddenly  as  they  had  come.  But, 
instead  of  going  away,  they  went  on  growing  every  day 
bigger. 

In  the  meantime  the  queen  sent  a  servant  out  with 
three  little  puppy-dogs  in  a  basket,  saying  that  whoever 
trained  them  best  should  marry  the  prince.  One  of  these 
the  servant  brought  to  her,  and  the  two  others  to  two 
other  girls,  who  were  princesses,  either  of  whom  the  queen 
would  have  preferred  her  son  should  marry. 

'  Train  puppy-dogs  ! '  said  each  of  the  other  two  girls. 
'  I  know  nothing  about  training  puppy-dogs !  What  can 
I  do  with  them  ! '  and  they  let  them  get  into  all  manner 
of  bad  habits. 

But  she  put  hers  in  a  basket  and  went  back  to  the 
palace  of  Monsu  Mostro,  and  knocked. 

« Who's  there  ?  '  said  Monsu  Mostro. 

4  It's  I ! ' 4  answered  she ;  and  then  she  told  him  all 
that  had  befallen  her,  and  showed  him  the  puppy-dog 
in  the  basket.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  but 
would  not  let  her  in,  and  only  cried  out,  '  Go  along !  you 
ugly  horned  thing ! ' 5 

She  went  away  crying  ;  but  having  lifted  up  the  cloth 
and  peeped  at  the  puppy-dog,  she  felt  reassured,  and  sent 
it  back  by  a  servant  to  the  queen. 

When  the  queen  uncovered  the  basket  a  beautiful  little 
dog  sprang  out  all  of  solid  gold,  yet  it  leaped  about  and 
performed  all  manner  of  tricks  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  real 
dog. 

The  prince  was  triumphant  when  he  saw  that  her  dog 
was  so  much  better  than  the  other  two ;  but  the  queen 
was  indignant,  and  said,  '  It  is  no  dog  at  all,  that  gold 


Monsn  Mostro.  113 

thing ! '  and  she  would  not  allow  that  the  girl  had  won  the 
trial. 

After  that  the  queen  sent  a  servant  out  with  three 
pounds  of  flax,  and  said  that  whoever  could  spin  it  best 
should  marry  the  prince. 

'  What  do  I  know  about  spinning ! '  said  each  of  the 
other  two  ;  and  they  let  the  flax  lie  without  touching  it. 

But  she  took  hers  in  a  basket  and  went  to  the  palace 
of  Monsu  Mostro,  and  knocked. 

«  Who's  there  ? '  asked  he. 

'  It's  I ! '  she  replied  in  her  doleful  voice,  and  told  him 
her  new  difficulty.  Monsu  Mostro  looked  at  the  flax,  but 
refused  to  admit  her,  and  saying,  '  Away  with  you,  you 
horned  wretch  ! '  shut  the  door  against  her. 

This  basket,  too,  she  sent  by  a  servant  to  the  queen, 
and  when  the  queen  opened  it  she  found  it  full  of  gold 
thread. 

'  You  must  allow  she  has  done  better  than  the  others 
this  time  ! '  said  the  prince. 

'  No  !  it  is  as  bad  as  before,'  answered  the  queen  ;  '  it 
is  not  natural !  It  won't  do  for  me  ! ' 

'  After  that  the  queen  sent  out  a  notice  that  whichever 
of  them  had  her  hair  growing  down  to  her  heels  should 
marry  the  prince. 

'  My  hair  does  not  reach  down  to  my  waist,'  said  each 
of  the  other  two.  '  How  can  I  make  it  grow  down  to  my 
heels?' 

But  she  went  to  the  palace  of  Monsu  Mostro,  and 
knocked. 

'  Who's  there  ? '  asked  he 

'  It  is  I ! '  she  replied,  as  dolefully  as  before,  and  told 
him  what  was  required  of  her  now. 

'  You  see  now  what  it  is  to  have  paid  no  attention  to 
what  I  told  you,'  answered  Monsu  Mostro.  *  I  told  you  not 
to  forget  the  comb  I  gave  you.  If  you  had  not  forgotten 


H4  Favole. 

that  none  of  this  would  have  happened.  That  comb  is 
your  remedy  now  ; '  and  with  that  he  shut  the  door. 

But  she  went  home  and  combed  her  hair  with  the 
comb  he  had  given  her  ;  and  not  only  the  horns  went  away, 
but  her  hair  grew  down  quite  to  her  heels  and  swept  the 
ground.  But  the  other  two  were  jealous  when  they  saw 
that  she  had  beaten  them  in  all  three  trials,  and  they  came 
to  her  to  ask  how  she  made  her  hair  grow,  and  she  sent 
them  to  the  palace  of  Monsu  Mostro  to  ask. 

But  as  they  only  came  out  of  jealousy,  he  told  them  to 
make  themselves  two  pitch  nightcaps  and  sleep  in  them  ; 
and  when  they  got  up  in  the  morning,  instead  of  having 
longer  hair,  all  the  hair  they  had  came  off. 

But  she  was  at  length  given  to  the  prince,  and  they 
were  married  amid  great  rejoicing. 

1  At  what  period  the  title  of  honour  of  '  Monsu '  got  appended  to  the 
monster's  name  is  more  than  I  can  fix. 

2  'Chi  e?'  'amice.'     See  note  3,  p.  187. 

3  The  reader  will  bear  in  mind,  in  this  and  other  places,  that  '  papa  ' 
and  '  mama '  are  vernacular   for  '  father  '  and  '  mother '  among  children  of 
the  lowest  classes  in  Italy. 

*  '  Son'  io.'  I  have  generally  found  these  stories  told  with  a  great  deal 
of  effect,  especially  to  suit  the  tone  to  the  dialogues.  It  was  particularly 
the  case  with  this  one,  e.g.  the  '  son'  io '  was  said  in  the  lamentable  tone  of 
a  person  wearied  with  fatigue  and  disappointment.' 

5  '  Vatene,  brutta  cornuda ! ' 

[The  two  preceding  stories  represent  the  Roman  contribution 
to  the  stories  of  visits  to  the  underground  world  and  the  Blue- 
beard group.  I  have  others  (^particularly  one  called  '  II  Cavolo 
d  Oro ',  the  '  Golden  Cabbage ')  more  like  the  general  run  of 
them.  The  two  I  have  selected  have  this  difference,  that  in 
neither  instance  does  the  subterranean  ruler  represent  the  Devil. 
'  Monsu  Mostro,'  is  most  disinterested  in  his  generosity.  As 
usual  with  the  Roman  versions,  all  that  is  terrible  is  eliminated. 
For  other  versions,  see  Ralston,  pp.  98-100 ;  and  for  a  somewhat 
similar  story,  the  'Water  Snake,"  p.  116.  Much  in  the  Norse, 
'  East  of  the  Sun  and  West  of  the  Moon,'  is  like  the  '  Re  Moro ;  ' 
so  is  '  The  Old  Dame  and  her  Hen,'  though  the  later  details  of 


The  Enchanted  Rose-  Tree.  115 

that  story  are  more  like  the  Tirolean  version,  which  I  have  given 
in  i  Laxehale's  Wives,'  in  '  Household  Stories  from  the  Land  of 
Hofer.'  The  German  version  given  as  '  Fitchers  Vogel,'  Grimm, 
p.  177,  has  more  of  the  horrid  element  than  any  of  the  others.  In 
the  version  of  '  Tiinder  Illona  '  given  in  Graf  Mailath's  Magya- 
rische  Sagen '  (a  rather  different  version  from  that  told  me  at 
Pesth,  which  I  have  given  at  p.  20-1),  Prince  Argilus  loses 
his  bride  and  her  kingdom,  and  has  to  begin  all  his  labours  over 
again,  through  looking  into  a  closed  chamber  which  Tiinder 
Illrua  had  bid  him  not  to  open  in  her  absence.  But  heroic 
action  abounds  in  the  Hungarian  tales,  just  as  it  is  wanting  in 
the  Roman  ones,  and  in  this,  and  in  many  details,  particularly  in 
the  enthusiasm  for  magic  horses,  they  are  singularly  like  the 
Gaelic. 

The  '  Re  Moro  '  is  perhaps  nearer  '  Beauty  and  the  Beast ' 
than  '  Bluebeard.'  I  had  a  version  of  this  given  me  in  the  fol- 
lowing form,  under  the  title  of 


THE  ENCHANTED  ROSE-TREE.1 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  merchant  who,  when  he  was 
going  out  to  buy  rare  merchandise,  asked  his  daughter 
what  rich  present  he  should  bring  home  to  her.  She, 
however,  would  hear  of  nothing  but  only  a  simple  rose- 
tree. 

'  That,'  said  her  father,  '  is  too  easy.  However,  as  you 
are  bent  on  having  a  rose-tree,  you  shall  have  the  most 
beautiful  rose-tree  I  can  find  in  all  my  travels.' 

In  all  his  travels,  however,  he  met  with  no  rose-tree 
that  he  deemed  choice  enough.  But  one  day,  when  he 
was  walking  outside  the  walls  of  his  own  city,  he  came  to 
a  garden  which  he  had  never  observed  before,  filled  with 
all  manner  of  beautifid  flowers. 

'  This  is  a  wonderful  garden  indeed,'  said  the  merchant 

to  himself;  '  I  never  saw  it  before,  and  yet  these  luxuriant 

plants  seem  to  have  many  years'  growth  in  them.     There 

must  be  something  wonderful  about  them,  so  this  is  just 

12 


1 1 6  Favole. 

the  place  to  look  for  my  daughter's  rose-tree.'  In  he  went 
therefore  to  look  for  the  rose-tree. 

In  the  midst  of  the  garden  was  a  casino,  the  door  of 
which  stood  open ;  when  he  went  in  he  found  a  ban- 
quet spread  with  the  choicest  dishes ;  and  though  he  Sjaw 
no  one,  a  kind  voice  invited  him  to  sit  down  and  enjoy 
himself.  So  he  sat  down  to  the  banquet,  and  very  much 
he  did  enjoy  himself,  for  there  was  everything  he  could 
desire.2 

When  he  had  well  eaten  and  drunk,  he  bethought  him 
to  go  out  again  into  the  garden  and  seek  a  choice  rose-tree. 

'  As  the  banquet  was  free,'  he  thought  to  himself,  '  I 
•suppose  the  flowers  are  free  too.' 

So  he  selected  what  seemed  to  him  the  choicest  rose  of 
all ;  while  it  had  petals  of  the  richest  red  in  the  world, 
within  it  was  all  shining  gold,  and  the  leaves  too  were 
overlaid  with  shining  gold.  This  rose-tree,  therefore,  he 
proceeded  to  root  up. 

A  peal  of  thunder  attended  the  attempt,  and  with  a 
noise  of  rushing  winds  and  waters  a  hideous  monster3  sud- 
denly appeared  before  him. 

'  How  dare  you  root  up  my  rose-trees  ?  '  said  the  mon- 
ster ;  '  was  it  not  enough  that  I  gave  you  my  best  hospi- 
tality freely  ?  Must  you  also  rob  me  of  my  flowers,  which 
are  as  my  life  to  me  ?  Now  you  must  die  ! ' 

The  merchant  excused  himself  as  best  he  could, 
saying  it  was  the  very  freedom  of  the  hospitality  which 
had  emboldened  him  to  take  the  rose,  and  that  he  had 
only  ventured  to  take  it  because  he  had  promised  the 
prettiest  rose-tree  he  could  find  to  his  daughter. 

4  Your  daughter,  say  you  ?  '  replied  the  monster.  '  If 
there  is  a  daughter  in  the  case  perhaps  I  may  forgive 
you ;  but  only  on  condition  that  you  bring  her  hither  to 
me  within  three  days'  time.' 

The  father  went  home  sad  at  heart,  but  within  three 
days  he  kept  his  promise  of  taking  his  daughter  to  the 


TJie  EncJianted  Rose-  Tree.  117 

garden.  The  monster  received  them  very  kindly,  and 
gave  them  the  casino  to  live  in,  where  they  were  well  fed 
and  lodged.  At  the  end  of  eight  days,  however,  a  voice 
came  to  the  father  and  told  him  he  must  depart ;  and 
when  he  hesitated  to  leave  his  daughter  alone  he  was  taken 
by  invisible  agency  and  turned  out  of  the  garden. 

The  monster  now  often  came  and  talked  to  the  daughter, 
and  he  was  so  gentle  and  so  kind  that  she  began  quite  to 
like  him.  One  day  she  asked  him  to  let  her  go  home  and 
see  her  friends,  and  he,  who  refused  her  nothing,  let  her 
go ;  but  begged  her  to  promise  solemnly  she  would  come 
back  at  the  end  of  eight  days,  '  for  if  you  are  away  longer 
than  that,'  he  added, '  I  know  I  shall  die  of  despair.'  Then 
he  gave  her  a  mirror  into  which  she  could  look  and  see 
how  he  was. 

Thus  she  went  home,  and  the  time  passed  quickly 
away,  and  eight  days  were  gone  and  she  had  not  thought 
of  returning.  Then  by  accident  the  mirror  came  under 
her  hand,  and,  looking  into  it,  she  saw  the  monster 
stretched  on  the  ground  as  if  at  the  point  of  death.  The 
sight  filled  her  with  compunction,  and  she  hurried  back 
with  her  best  speed. 

Arrived  at  the  garden,  she  found  the  monster  just  as 
she  had  seen  him  in  the  mirror.  At  sight  of  her  he  re- 
vived, and  soon  became  so  much  better  that  she  was  much 
touched  when  she  saw  how  deeply  he  cared  for  her. 

4  And  were  you  really  so  bad  only  because  I  went 
away  ? '  she  asked. 

'  No,  not  only  because  you  went  away,  for  it  was  right 
you  should  go  and  see  your  parents ;  but  because  I  began 
to  fear  you  would  never  come  back,  and  if  you  had  never 
come  back  I  should  quite  have  died.' 

'  And  now  you  are  all  right  again  ? ' 

'  Yes,  now  you  are  here  I  am  quite  happy  ;  that  is,  I 
should  be  quite  happy  if  you  woidd  promise  always  to 
remain  and  never  go  away  any  more.' 


1 1 8  Favole. 

Then  when  she  saw  how  earnest  and  sincere  he  was  in 
wishing  her  to  stay,  she  gave  her  consent  never  to  leave 
him  more. 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken  the  promise  than  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  all  was  changed.  The  monster  became 
a  handsome  prince,  the  casino  a  palace,  the  garden  a 
flourishing  country,  and  each  several  rose-tree  a  city.  For 
the  prince  had  been  enchanted  by  an  enemy,  and  had  to 
remain  transformed  as  a  monster  till  he  should  be  redeemed 
by  the  love  of  a  maiden. 

1  '  La  Eosa  fatata.' 

2  According  to  the  narrator,  there  was  a  dish  of  '  pasta '  heaped  up  like 
a  mountain  ;  and  '  souplis  di  riso  con  rigaglie '  and  '  capone  con  contorni,' 
and  several  kinds  of  wine.    I  give  this  description  verbally,  as  it  was  given 
to  me,  as  characteristic  of  the  local  colouring  such  legends  receive.     The 
dishes  named  are  the  favourites  of  the  Eoman  middle  class.     '  Pasta '  is 
the  Eoman  equivalent  for  the  '  maccaroni '  of  the  Neapolitan.     '  Eigaglie ' 
is  the  liver,  &c.,  of  poultry  minced,  to  put  into  the   fried  balls  of  rice. 
'  Contorni '  means    something    more  than  '  garnish,'  being  something  put 
round  the  dish,  not  merely  for  ornament,  but  more  or  less  substantial, 
to  be  eaten  with  it,  as  sausages  round  a  turkey. 

3  The  word  used  in  this   place  was   '  mostro,'  not  '  orco,'   marking  a 
distinct  idea  in  the  tradition,  where  it  is  the  Principle  of  Evil  himself 
who  is  intended,  and  where,    an   unfortunate  mortal  subjected  by  malice 
to  his  influence. 

[The  three  brothers  who  occupy  so  large  a  space  in  the 
household  tales  of  other  countries,  do  not  seem  to  be  popular 
favourites  in  Rome.  I  have  come  across  them  but  seldom. 
There  are  plenty  of  them  in  the  '  Norse  Tales,'  under  the  name 
of  '  Boots  '  for  the  unexpectedly  doughty  brother.  The  Spanish 
romance  I  have  given  as  '  Simple  Johnny  and  the  Spell-bound 
Princesses,'  in  '  Patranas,'  makes  him  a  knight.  In  the  Siddhi 
Kiir  story  of  '  How  the  Schimnu  Khan  was  Slain,'  it  is  three 
hired  companions  (as  in  some  other  versions),  who  betray  the 
hero ;  and  in  all  but  this  (which  is  its  link  with  the  usual 
Three-brother  stories),  it  is  a  remarkably  close  repetition  of  the 
details  of  another  Spanish  romance,  which  I  have  given  as 
'  The  Ill-tempered  Princess,  and  this,  in  its  turn,  is  like  the 
Tirolean  '  Laxhale's  Wives  '  and  the  Roman  '  Diavolo  che  prese 


Scioccolone.  1 1 9 

moglie.'  Compare,  further,  a  number  of  instances  collected  by 
Mr.  Ealston,  pp.  72-80,  and  260-7.  In  many  parts  of  Tirol 
you  meet  a  Three-brother  story  different  from  any  of  these. 
Three  brothers  go  out  to  hunt  chamois  on  a  Sunday  morning, 
and  get  so  excited  with  the  sport  that  they  make  themselves  too 
late  to  hear  Mass,  and  get  turned  into  stone,  or  some  other  dread- 
ful punishment.  The  younger  brother,  who  has  all  along  urged 
them  to  go  down,  but  has  been  overruled  by  the  others,  is  in- 
volved in  the  same  punishment.  There  are  three  peaks  on  the 
Knie  Pass,  leading  from  Tirol  to  Salzburg,  called  '  The  Three 
Brothers,'  from  such  a  legend.] 


SCIOCCOLONE.^ 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  were  three  brothers,  who  were 
woodmen ;  their  employment  was  not  one  which  required 
great  skill,  and  they  were  none  of  them  very  clever,  but 
the  youngest  was  the  least  brilliant  of  all.  So  simple  was 
he  that  all  the  neighbours,  and  his  very  brothers — albeit 
they  were  not  so  very  superior  in  intelligence  themselves — 
gave  him  the  nickname  of  '  Scioccolone,'  the  great  simple- 
ton, and  accordingly  Scioccolone  he  was  called  wherever  he 
went. 

Every  day  these  three  brothers  went  out  into  the  woods 
to  their  work,  and  every  evening  they  all  came  home,  each 
staggering  under  his  load  of  wood,  which  he  carried  to  the 
dealer  who  paid  them  for  their  toil :  thus  one  day  of  labour 
passed  away  just  like  another  in  all  respects.  So  it  went 
on  for  years. 

Nevertheless,  one  day  came  at  last  which  was  not  at 
all  like  the  others,  and  if  all  days  were  like  it  the  world 
would  be  quite  upside  down,  or  be  at  least  a  very  different 
world  from  what  it  is.  Oime  !  that  such  days  never  occur 
now  at  all !  Basta,  this  is  what  happened.  It  was  in  the 
noontide  heat  of  a  very  hot  day,  the  three  simple  brothers 


1 20  Favole. 

committed  the  imprudence  of  going  out  of  the  shelter  of 
the  woods  into  the  wold  beyond,  and  there,  lying  on  the 
grass  in  the  severest  blaze  of  the  burning  sun,  they  saw 
three  beautiful  peasant  girls  lying  fast  asleep. 

'  Only  look  at  those  silly  girls  sleeping  in  the  full  blaze 
of  the  sun  ! '  cried  the  eldest  brother. 

'  They'll  get  bad  in  their  heads  in  this  heat,'  said  the 
second. 

But  Scioccolone  said :  '  Shall  we  not  get  some  sticks 
and  boughs,  and  make  a  little  shed  to  shelter  them  ? ' 

'  Just  like  one  of  Scioccolone's  fine  ideas  ! '  laughed  the 
eldest  brother  scornfully. 

'  Well  done,  Scioccolone  !  That's  the  best  thing  you've 
thought  of  this  long  while.  And  who  will  build  a  shed 
over  us  while  we're  building  a  shed  for  the  girls,  I  should 
like  to  know  ? '  said  the  second. 

But  Scioccolone  said :  '  We  can't  leave  them  there  like 
that ;  they  will  be  burnt  to  death.  If  you  won't  help  me 
I  must  build  the  shed  alone.' 

'  A  wise  resolve,  and  worthy  of  Scioccolone ! '  scoffed 
the  eldest  brother. 

'  Good-bye,  Scioccolone ! '  cried  the  second,  as  the  two 
elder  brothers  walked  away  together.  '  Grood-bye  for  ever  ! 
I  don't  expect  ever  to  see  you  alive  again,  of  course.' 

And  they  never  did  see  him  again,  but  what  it  was 
that  happened  to  him  you  shall  hear. 

Without  waiting  to  find  a  retort  to  his  brothers'  gibes, 
Scioccolone  set  to  work  to  fell  four  stout  young  saplings, 
and  to  set  them  up  as  supports  of  his  shed  in  four  holes 
he  had  previously  scooped  with  the  aid  of  his  bill-hook  ; 
then  he  rammed  them  in  with  wedges,  which  he  also  had 
to  cut  and  shape.  After  this  he  cut  four  large  bushy 
branches,  which  he  tied  to  the  uprights  with  the  cord  he 
used  for  tying  up  his  faggots  of  logs ;  and  as  the  shade  of 
these  was  scarcely  close  enough  to  keep  out  all  the  fierce 
rays  of  the  sun,  he  went  back  to  the  wood  and  collected  all 


Scioccolone.  121 

the  large  broad  leaves  he  could  find,  and  came  back  and 
spread  them  out  over  his  leafy  roof.  All  this  was  very 
hard  labour  indeed  when  performed  under  the  dreaded 
sun,  and  just  in  the  hours  when  men  do  no  work;  yet  so 
beautiful  were  the  three  maidens  that,  when  at  last  he  had 
completed  his  task,  he  could  not  tear  himself  away  from 
them  to  go  and  seek  repose  in  the  shade  of  the  wood,  but 
he  must  needs  continue  standing  in  the  full  sun  gazing  at 
them  open-mouthed. 

At  last  the  three  beautiful  maidens  awoke,  and  when 
they  saw  what  a  fragrant  shade  had  refreshed  their  slum- 
bers they  began  pouring  out  their  gratitude  to  their 
devoted  benefactor. 

Do  not  run  at  hasty  conclusions,  however,  and  imagine 
that  of  course  the  three  beautiful  maidens  fell  in  love  on 
the  spot  with  Scioccolone,  and  he  had  only  to  pick  and 
choose  which  of  them  he  would  have  to  make  him  happy 
as  his  wife.  A  very  proper  ending,  you  say,  for  a  fairy 
tale.  It  was  not  so,  however.  Scioccolone  looked  any- 
thing but  attractive  just  then.  His  meaningless  features 
and  uncouth,  clownish  gait  were  never  at  any  time  likely 
to  inspire  the  fair  maidens  with  sudden  affection ;  but  just 
then,  after  his  running  hither  and  thither,  his  felling, 
digging,  and  hammering  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  his  face 
had  acquired  a  tint  which  made  it  look  rougher  and  redder 
and  more  repulsive  than  anyone  ever  wore  before. 

Besides  this,  the  three  maidens  were  fairies,  who  had 
taken  the  form 2  of  beautiful  peasant  girls  for  some  reason 
of  theii  own. 

But  neither  did  they  leave  his  good  deed  unrewarded. 
By  no  means.  Each  of  the  three  declared  she  would  give 
him  such  a  precious  gift  that  he  should  own  to  his  last 
hour  that  they  were  not  ungrateful.  So  they  sat  and 
thought  what  great  gift  they  could  think  of  which  should 
be  calculated  to  make  him  very  happy  indeed. 

At  last  the  first  of  the  three  got  up  and  exclaimed  that 


122  Favole. 

she  had  thought  of  her  gift,  and  she  did  not  think  anyone 
could  give  him  a  greater  one ;  for  she  would  promise  him 
he  should  one  day  be  a  king. 

Wasn't  that  a  fine  gift ! 

Scioccolone,  however,  did  not  think  so.  The  idea  of 
his  being  a  king !  Simple  as  he  was,  he  could  see  the 
incongruity  of  the  idea,  and  the  embarrassment  of  the 
situation.  How  should  he  the  poor  clown,  everybody's 
laughingstock,  become  a  king?  and  if  he  did,  kingship 
had  no  attractions  for  him. 

He  was  too  kind-hearted,  however,  to  say  anything 
in  disparagement  of  the  well-meant  promise,  and  too 
straightforward  to  assume  a  show  of  gratitude  he  did  not 
feel ;  so  after  the  first  little  burst  of  hilarity  which  he 
was  not  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  suppress,  he 
remained  standing  open-mouthed  after  his  awkward 
manner. 

Then  the  second  fairy  addressed  him  and  said  : — 

'  I  see  you  don't  quite  like  my  sister's  gift ;  but  you 
may  be  sure  she  would  not  have  promised  it  if  it  had  not 
been  a  good  gift,  after  you  have  been  so  kind  to  us ; 
and  when  it  comes  true,  it  will  somehow  all  turn  out  very 
nice  and  right.  But  now,  meantime,  that  I  may  not 
similarly  disappoint  you  with  my  gift  by  choosing  it  for 
you,  I  shall  let  you  choose  it  for  yourself ;  so  say,  what 
shall  it  be?' 

Scioccolone  was  almost  as  much  embarrassed  with  the 
second  fairy's  permission  of  choosing  for  himself  as  he 
had  been  with  the  first  fairy's  choice  for  him.  First 
he  grinned,  and  then  he  twisted  his  great  awkward  mouth 
about,  and  then  he  grinned  again,  till,  at  last,  ashamed  of 
keeping  the  fairies  waiting  so  long  for  his  answer,  he  said, 
with  another  grin : — 

4  Well,  to  tell  you  what  I  should  really  like,  it  would 
be  that  when  I  have  finished  making  up  my  faggot  of 
logs  this  evening,  instead  of  having  to  stagger  home 


Scioccolone.  123 

carrying  it,  it  should  roll  along  by  itself,  and  then  I  get 
astride  of  it,  and  that  it  should  carry  me.' 

'  That  would  be  fine  ! '  he  added,  and  he  grinned  again 
as  he  thought  of  the  fun  it  would  be  to  be  carried  home  by 
the  load  of  logs  instead  of  carrying  the  load  as  he  had 
been  wont. 

'  Certainly  !  That  wish  is  granted,'  replied  the  second 
fairy  readily.  4  You  will  find  it  all  happen  just  as  you 
have  described.' 

Then  the  third  fairy  came  forward  and  said : — 

'  And  now  choose  ;  what  shall  my  gift  be  ?  You  have 
only  to  ask  for  whatever  you  like  and  you  shall  have  it.' 

Such  a  heap  of  wishes  rose  up  in  Scioccolone's  imagi- 
nation at  this  announcement,  that  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  which  to  select ;  as  fast  as  he  fixed  on  one 
thing,  he  remembered  it  would  be  incomplete  without 
some  other  gift,  and  as  he  went  on  trying  to  find  some 
one  wish  that  should  be  as  comprehensive  as  possible,  he 
suddenly  blurted  out — 

'  Promise  me  that  whatever  I  wish  may  come  true ; 
that'll  be  the  best  gift ;  and  so  if  I  forget  a  thing  one 
moment  I  can  wish  for  it  the  next.  That'll  be  the  best 
gift  to  be  sure ! ' 

1  Grranted  ! '  said  the  third  fairy.  '  You  have  only  to 
wish  for  anything  and  you  will  find  you  get  it  immediately, 
whatever  it  is.' 

The  fairies  then  took  leave  and  went  their  way,  and 
Scioccolone  was  reminded  by  the  lengthening  shades  that 
it  was  time  he  betook  himself  to  complete  his  day's  work. 
Scarcely  succeeding  in  collecting  his  thoughts,  so  dazzled 
and  bewildered  was  he  by  the  late  supernatural  conversa- 
tion, he  yet  found  his  way  back  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
been  felling  wood. 

'  Oh,  dear  !  how  tired  I  am  ! '  he  said  within  himself 
as  he  walked  along.  '  How  I  wish  the  wood  was  all  felled 
and  the  faggots  tied  up ! '  and  though  he  said  this 


124  Fdvolc. 

mechanically  as  he  might  have  said  it  any  other  day  of 
his  life,  without  thinking  of  the  fairy's  promise,  which 
was,  indeed,  too  vast  for  him  to  put  it  consciously  to  such 
a  practical  test  then,  full  of  astonishment  as  he  was,  yet 
when  he  got  back  to  his  working-place  the  wood  was 
felled  and  laid  in  order,  and  tied  into  a  faggot  in  the 
best  manner. 

'  Well  to  be  sure  ! '  soliloquised  Scioccolone.  '  The  girls 
have  kept  their  promise  indeed !  This  is  just  exactly  what 
I  wished.  And  now,  let's  see  what  else  did  I  wish  ?  Oh,  yes  ; 
that  if  I  got  astride  on  the  faggot  it  should  roll  along  by  it- 
self and  carry  me  with  it ;  let's  see  if  that'll  come  true  too  ! ' 

With  that  he  got  astride  on  the  faggot,  and  sure 
enough  the  faggot  moved  on  all  by  itself,  and  carried 
Scioccolone  along  with  it  pleasantly  enough. 

Only  there  was  one  thing  Scioccolone  had  forgotten  to 
ask  for,  and  that  was  power  to  guide  the  faggot ;  and  now, 
though  it  took  a  direction  quite  contrary  to  that  of  his 
homeward  way,  he  had  no  means  of  inducing  it  to  change 
its  tack.  After  some  time  spent  in  fruitless  efforts  in 
schooling  his  unruly  mount,  Scioccolone  began  to  reason 
with  himself. 

'  After  all,  it  does  not  much  matter  about  going  home. 
I  only  get  laughed  at  and  called  "  Scioccolone."  Maybe 
in  some  other  place  they  may  be  better,  and  as  the  faggot 
is  acting  under  the  orders  of  my  benefactress,  it  will 
doubtless  all  be  for  the  best.' 

So  he  committed  himself  to  the  faggot  to  take  him 
wherever  it  would.  On  went  the  faggot  surely  and 
steadily,  as  if  quite  conscious  where  it  had  to  go  ;  and 
thus,  before  nightfall,  it  came  to  a  great  city  where  were 
many  people,  who  all  came  out  to  see  the  wonder  of 
the  faggot  of  logs  moving  along  by  itself,  and  a  man 
riding  on  it. 

In  this  city  was  a  king,  who  lived  in  a  palace  with  an 
only  daughter.  Now  this  daughter  had  never  been  known 


Scioccolone.  125 

to  laugh.  What  pains  soever  the  king  her  father  took  to 
divert  her  were  all  unavailing;  nothing  brought  a  smile 
to  her  lips. 

Now,  however,  when  all  the  people  ran  to  the  windows 
to  see  a  man  riding  on  a  faggot,  the  king's  daughter  ran 
to  look  out  too ;  and  when  she  saw  the  faggot  moving 
by  itself,  and  the  uncouth  figure  of  Scioccolone  sitting  on 
it,  and  heard  all  the  people  laughing  at  the  sight,  then 
the  king's  daughter  laughed  too ;  laughed  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life. 

But  Scioccolone  passing  under  the  palace,  heard  her 
clear  and  merry  laugh  resounding  above  the  laughter  of 
all  the  people,  he  looked  up  and  saw  her,  and  when  he  saw 
her  looking  so  bright  and  fair  he  said  within  himself: — 

'  Now,  if  ever  the  fairy's  power  of  wishing  is  to  be  of 
use  to  me,  I  wish  that  I  might  have  a  little  son,  and  that 
the  beautiful  princess  should  be  the  mother.'  But  he  did 
not  think  of  wishing  to  stop  there  that  he  might  look  at 
her,  so  the  faggot  carried  him  past  the  palace  and  past 
all  the  houses  into  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  till  he  got 
tired  and  weary,  and  just  then  passing  a  wood  merchant's 
yard,  the  thought  rose  to  his  lips, — 

'  I  wish  that  wood  merchant  would  buy  this  faggot  of 
me!' 

Immediately  the  wood  merchant  came  out  and  offered 
to  buy  the  faggot,  and  as  it  was  such  a  wonderful  faggot, 
that  he  thought  Scioccolone  would  never  consent  to  sell 
it,  he  offered  him  such  a  high  price  that  Scioccolone  had 
enough  to  live  on  like  a  prince  for  a  year. 

After  a  time  there  was  again  a  great  stir  in  the  city, 
everyone  was  abroad  in  the  streets  whispering  and  consult- 
ing. To  the  king's  daughter  was  born  a  little  son,  and  no 
one  knew  who  the  father  was,  not  even  the  princess  herself. 
Then  the  king  sent  for  all  the  men  in  the  city,  and 
brought  them  to  the  infant,  and  said,  '  Is  this  your  father  ?' 
but  the  babe  said  <  No  ! '  to  them  all. 


126  Favole. 

Last  of  all,  Scioccolone  was  brought,  and  when  the 
king  took  him  up  to  the  babe  and  said,  'Is  this  your 
father?'  the  babe  rose  joyfully  from  its  cradle  and  said, 
'  Yes ;  that  is  my  father  ! '  When  the  king  heard  this  and 
saw  what  a  rough  ugly  clown  Scioccolone  was,  he  was  very 
angry  with  his  daughter,  and  said  she  must  marry  him 
and  go  away  for  ever  from  the  palace.  It  was  all  in 
vain  that  the  princess  protested  she  had  never  seen  him 
but  for  one  moment  from  the  top  of  the  palace.  The 
babe  protested  quite  positively  that  he  was  his  father ;  so 
the  king  had  them  married,  and  sent  them  away  from  the 
palace  for  ever ;  and  the  babe  was  right,  for  though  Scioc- 
colone and  the  princess  had  never  met,  Scioccolone  had 
wished  that  he  might  have  a  son,  of  whom  she  should  be 
the  mother,  and  by  the  power  of  the  spell 3  the  child  was 
born. 

Scioccolone  was  only  too  delighted  with  the  king's 
angry  decree.  He  felt  quite  out  of  place  in  the  palace, 
and  was  glad  enough  to  be  sent  away  from  it.  All  he 
wanted  was  to  have  such  a  beautiful  wife,  and  he  will- 
ingly obeyed  the  king's  command  to  take  her  away,  a 
long,  long  way  off. 

Tbe  princess,  however,  was  quite  of  a  different  mind. 
She  could  not  cease  from  crying,  because  she  was  given  to 
such  an  uncouth,  clownish  husband  that  no  tidy  peasant 
wench  would  have  married. 

When,  therefore,  Scioccolone  saw  his  beautiful  bride 
so  unhappy  and  distressed,  he  grew  distressed  himself; 
and  in  his  distress  he  remembered  once  more  the  pro- 
mise of  the  fairy,  that  whatever  he  wished  he  might  have, 
and  he  began  wishing  away  at  once.  First  he  wished  for 
a  pleasant  villa,4  prettily  laid-out,  and  planted,  and 
walled ;  then,  a  casino 8  in  the  midst  of  it,  prettily  fur- 
nished, and  having  plenty  of  pastimes  and  diversions ; 
then,  for  a  farm,  well-stocked  with  beasts  for  all  kinds  of 
uses;  for  carriages  and  servants,  for  fruits  and  flowers, 


Scioccolone.  127 

and  all  that  can  make  life  pleasant.  And  when  he  found 
that  with  all  these  things  the  princess  did  not  seem 
much  happier  than  before,  he  bethought  himself  of  wish- 
ing that  he  might  be  furnished  with  a  handsome  person, 
polished  manners,  and  an  educated  mind,  altogether  such 
as  the  princess  wished.  All  his  wishes  were  fulfilled, 
and  the  princess  now  loved  him  very  much,  and  they 
lived  very  happily  together. 

After  they  had  been  living  thus  some  time,  it  hap- 
pened one  day  that  the  king,  going  out  hunting,  observed 
this  pleasant  villa  on  the  wold,  where  heretofore  all  had 
been  bare,  unplanted,  and  unbuilt. 

'  How  is  this  ! '  cried  the  king  ;  and  he  drew  rein,  and 
went  into  the  villa  intending  to  inquire  how  the  change 
had  come  about. 

Scioccolone  came  out  to  meet  him,  not  only  so  trans- 
formed that  the  king  never  recognised  him,  but  so  distin- 
guished by  courtesy  and  urbanity,  that  the  king  himself 
felt  ashamed  to  question  him  as  to  how  the  villa  had 
grown  up  so  suddenly.  He  accepted  his  invitation  to 
come  and  rest  in  the  casino,  however ;  and  there  they  fell 
to  conversing  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  till  the  king  was  so 
struck  with  the  sagacity  and  prudence  of  Scioccolone's 
talk,  that  when  he  rose  to  take  leave,  he  said : 

'  Such  a  man  as  you  I  have  long  sought  to  succeed  me 
in  the  government  of  the  kingdom.  I  am  growing  old 
and  have  no  children,  and  you  are  worthy  in  all  ways  to 
wear  the  crown.  Come  up,  therefore,  if  you  will,  to  the 
palace  and  live  with  me,  and  when  I  die  you  shall  be  king.' 

Scioccolone,  now  no  longer  feeling  himself  so  ill- 
adapted  to  live  in  a  palace,  willingly  consented,  and  a  few 
days  after,  with  his  wife  and  his  little  son,  he  went  up  to 
the  palace  to  live  with  the  king. 

But  the  king's  delight  can  scarcely  be  imagined  when 
he  found  that  the  wife  of  the  polished  stranger  was  indeed 
his  very  own  daughter. 


128  Favole. 

After  a  few  years  the  old  king  died,  and  Scioccolone 
reigned  in  his  stead.  And  thus  the  promises  of  all  the 
three  fairies  were  fulfilled. 

1  '  Sciocco,'  a  simpleton  ;  '  scioccolone,'  a  great  awkward  simpleton. 

2  Even  in  this  story,  where  the  fairies  really  are  described  as  fair  to 
see,  it  will  be  observed  it  is  only  said  they  had  assumed  the  forms  of 
beautiful  girls  for  one  occasion,  not  that  they  were  necessarily  beautiful, 
like  our  fairies 

*  '  Fatatura,'  the  virtue  of  enchantment. 

4  '  Villa'  is  more  often  used  to  express  a  little  estate — or,  as  we  should 
say,  the  '  grounds '  on  which  a  country-house  stands — than  for  the  house 
itself,  though  we  have  borrowed  the  word  exclusively  in  the  latter  sense. 

s  '  Casino '  a  tasteful  little  house. 

£  Among  the  Italian-Tirolese  tales  is  one  called  '  I  tre  pezzi 
rari '  (The  Three  Rare  Things),  which  begins  just  like  '  Sciocco- 
lone,' and  then  the  fairies  give  the  three  gifts  of  a  dinner-providing 
table-cloth,  an  exhaustless  purse,  and  a  resistless  cudgel,  which 
we  so  often  meet  with,  as  in  Grimm's  '  Tischchen  deck  dich,' 
p.  142  ;  Campbell's  '  Three  Soldiers,'  i.  p:  176-93,  who  refers  to 
numerous  other  versions,  in  which  other  incidents  of  the  two 
next  succeeding  tales  occur.  The  Spanish  version  I  have  given 
by  the  name  of  '  Matanzas  '  in  *  Patranas.' 

In  the  Roman  version  of  the  '  Dodici  palmi  di  naso,'  it  is 
singular  that  it  is  the  second  and  not  the  youngest  son  who  is 
the  hero.  There  is  another  Italian-Tirolese  story,  entitled  '  II 
Zufolotta,'  in  which  only  one  boy  and  two  fairies  are  concerned, 
and  they  only  give  him  the  one  gift  of  the  Zufoletto,  which,  in- 
stead of  supplying  every  wish  as  in  '  Dodici  palmi  di  naso,'  has  the 
power  of  the  Zauberflote,  the  pipe  of  the  '  Pied  Piper,'  and  kindred 
instruments  in  all  times  and  countries,  so  that,  when  it  has  got  its 
possessor  into  such  trouble  that  he  is  condemned  to  be  executed, 
it  answers  the  same  end  as  the  cudgel,  liberating  its  master  by 
setting  the  judge  and  executioner  dancing,  instead  of  by  thump- 
ing them.] 


Twelve  Feet  of  Nose.  129 


TWELVE  FEET  OF  NOSE.1 

THERE  was  a  poor  old  father,  who  was  very  poor  indeed, 
and  very  old.  When  he  came  to  die,  he  called  his  three 
sons  round  his  bed,  and  said  they  must  summon  a  notary 
to  make  his  will.  The  sons  looked  at  each  other,  and 
thought  he  was  doating.  He  repeated  his  desire,  and 
then  one  of  them  ventured  to  say  : 

'  But  father,  dear,  why  should  we  go  to  the  expense  of 
calling  in  a  notary ;  there  is  not  a  single  thing  on  earth 
you  have  to  leave  us  ! ' 

But  the  old  man  told  them  again  to  call  a  notary,  and 
still  they  hesitated,  because  they  thought  the  notary 
would  say  they  were  making  game  of  him. 

At  last  the  old  man  began  to  get  angry  when  he 
found  they  would  not  do  as  he  said,  and,  just  not  to  vex 
him  in  his  last  moments,  they  called  the  notary,  and  the 
notary  brought  his  witnesses. 

Then  the  father  was  content,  and  called  them  all  to 
his  bedside. 

4  Now,  pull  out  the  old  case  under  the  bed,  and  take 
out  what  you  find  there.' 

They  found  an  old  broken  hat,  without  a  brim,  a 
ragged  purse  that  was  so  worn  you  could  not  have  trusted 
any  money  in  its  keeping,  and  a  horn.2 

These  three  things  he  bequeathed  in  due  form  of  law, 
one  to  each  of  his  sons  ;  and  it  was  only  because  they  saw 
that  the  man  was  in  his  death  agony  that  those  who  were 
called  to  act  as  witnesses  could  keep  from  laughing.  To 
the  notary,  of  course,  it  was  all  one  whether  it  was  an  old 
hat  or  a  new  one,  his  part  was  the  same,  and  when  he 
had  done  what  was  needful,  he  went  his  way,  and  the 
witnesses  went  with  him ;  but  as  they  went  out.  they 
said  one  to  another  : 

K 


1 30  Favole. 

'  Poor  old  man !  perhaps  it  is  a  comfort  to  him  in 
his  last  moments  to  fancy  he  has  got  something  to  leave.' 

"When  they  were  all  gone,  as  the  three  sons  were 
standing  by,  very  sad,  and  looking  at  each  other,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  the  strange  scene,  he  called  the 
eldest,  to  whose  portion  the  hat  had  fallen,  and  said : 

«  See  what  I've  given  you.' 

'  Why,  father ! '  answered  he,  '  it  isn't  even  good 
enough  to  bind  round  one's  knee  when  one  goes  out 
hoeing!' 

But  the  father  answered  : 

4 1  wouldn't  let  you  know  its  value  till  those  people 
were  gone,  lest  any  should  take  it  from  you ;  this  is  its 
value,  that  if  you  put  it  on,  you  can  go  in  to  dine  at 
whatever  inn  you  please,  or  sit  down  to  drink  at  what 
wineshop  you  please,  and  take  what  you  like  and  drink 
what  you  like,  for  no  one  will  see  you  while  you  have 
it  on.' 

Then  he  called  his  second  son,  to  whose  lot  the  purse 
had  fallen,  and  he  said  : 

'  See  what  I  have  given  you.' 

*  Why,  father  ! '  answered  the  son,  4  it  isn't  even  good 
enough  to  keep  a  little  tobacco  in,  if  I  could  afford  to 
buy  any ! ' 

But  the  father  answered  : 

*  I  wouldn't  tell  you  its  value  till  those  people  were 
gone,  lest  any  should  take  it  from  you ;  but  this  is  its 
value  ;  if  you  put  your  fingers  in,  you'll  find  a  scudo  there, 
and  after  that  another,  and  another,  as  many  as  ever  you 
will ;  there  will  always  be  one.' 

Then  he  called  his  youngest  son,  and  said : 

'  See  what  I  have  given  you.' 

And  he  answered : 

'  Yes,  father,  it's  a  very  nice  horn ;  and  when  I  am 
starving  hungry  I  can  cheat  myself  into  being  content  by 
playing  on  it.' 


Twelve  Feet  of  Nose.  1 3 1 

'  Silly  boy ! '  answered  the  father  ;  '  that  is  not  its 
use.  I  wouldn't  tell  you  its  value  while  those  people 
were  here,  lest  they  should  take  it  from  you.  Its  value  is 
this,  that  whenever  you  want  anything  you  have  onl;-  to 
sound  it,  and  one  will  come  who  will  bring  whatever  you 
want,  be  it  a  dinner,  a  suit  of  clothes,  a  palace,  or  an  army.' 

After  this  the  father  died,  and  each  found  himself 
well  provided  with  the  legacy  he  had  given  him. 

It  happened  that  one  day  as  the  second  son3  was 
passing  under  the  window  of  the  palace  a  waiting-maid 
looked  out  and  said :  '  Can  you  play  at  cards  ? ' 

'  As  well  as  most,'  answered  the  youth. 

4  Very  well,  then;  come  up,'  answered  the  waiting-maid ; 
'  for  the  queen  wants  some  one  to  play  with  her.' 

Very  readily  he  went  up,  therefore,  and  played  at 
cards  with  the  queen,  and  when  he  had  played  all  the 
evening  he  had  lost  fifty  scudi. 

'  Never  mind  about  paying  the  fifty  scudi,'  said  the 
queen,  as  he  rose  to  leave.  '  We  only  played  to  pass  away 
the  time,  and  you  don't  look  by  your  dress  as  if  you 
could  afford  fifty  scudi.' 

'Not  at  all!'  replied  the  youth.  <I  will  certainly 
bring  the  fifty  scudi  in  the  morning.' 

And  in  the  morning,  by  putting  his  fingers  fifty  times 
into  the  ragged  purse,  he  had  the  required  sum,  and  went 
back  with  it  to  the  palace  and  paid  the  queen. 

The  queen  was  very  much  astonished  that  such  a 
shabby-looking  fellow  should  have  such  command  of 
money,  and  determined  to  find  out  how  it  was  ;  so  she 
made  him  stay  and  dine.  After  dinner  she  took  him  into 
her  private  room  and  said  to  him : 

'  Tell  me,  how  comes  it  that  you,  who  are  but  a  shabby- 
looking  fellow,  have  such  command  of  money  ? ' 

'  Oh  ! '  answered  he  quite  unsuspectingly,  '  because 
my  father  left  me  a  wonderful  purse,  in  which  is  always  a 
scudo.' 

it  2 


132 


Favole. 


*  Nonsense !'  answered  the  queen.  'That  is  a  very 
pretty  fable,  but  such  purses  don't  exist.' 

'  Oh,  but  it  is  so  indeed,'  answered  the  youth. 

'  Quite  impossible,'  persisted  the  queen. 

'  But  here  it  is  ;  you  can  see  for  yourself ! '  pursued 
the  incautious  youth,  taking  it  out. 

The  queen  took  it  from  him  as  if  to  try  its  powers, 
but  no  sooner  was  she  in  possession  of  it  than  she  called 
in  the  guard  to  turn  out  a  fellow  who  was  trying  to  rob 
her,  and  give  him  a  good  beating. 

Indignant  at  such  treatment,  the  youth  went  to  his 
eldest  brother  and  begged  his  hat  of  him  that  he  might, 
by  its  means,  go  and  punish  the  queen. 

Putting  on  the  hat  he  went  back  to  the  palace  at  the 
hour  of  dinner  and  sat  down  to  table.  As  soon  as  the 
queen  was  served  he  took  her  plate  and  ate  up  all  that  was 
in  it  one  course  after  another,  so  that  the  queen  got  nothing, 
and  finding  it  useless  to  call  for  more  dishes,  she  gave  it 
up  as  a  bad  job,  and  went  into  her  room.  The  youth 
followed  her  in  and  demanded  the  return  of  his  wonderful 
purse. 

'  How  can  I  know  it  is  you  if  I  don't  see  you  ? '  said 
the  queen. 

'  Never  mind  about  seeing  me.  Put  the  purse  out  on 
the  table  for  me  and  I  will  take  it.' 

'  No,  I  can't  if  I  don't  see  you,'  replied  the  queen.  '  I 
can't  believe  it  is  you  unless  I  see  you.' 

The  youth  fell  into  the  snare  and  took  off  his  hat. 

'How  did  you  manage  to  make  yourself  invisible?' 
asked  the  queen. 

'  Just  by  putting  on  this  old  hat.' 

'  I  don't  believe  that  could  make  you  invisible,'  ex- 
claimed the  queen.  '  Let  me  try.' 

And  she  snatched  the  hat  out  of  his  hand  and  put  it 
on.  Of  course  she  was  now  in  turn  invisible,  and  he 
sought  her  in  vain  ;  but  worse  than  that,  she  rang  the-bell 


Twelve  Feet  of  Nose.  1 3  3 

for  the  guard  and  bid  them  turn  the  shabby  youth  out 
and  give  him  a  bastonata. 

Full  of  fresh  indignation  he  ran  to  his  youngest  brother 
and  told  him  all  his  story,  begging  the  loan  of  his  horn, 
that  he  might  punish  the  queen  by  its  means ;  and  the 
brother  lent  it  him. 

He  sounds  the  horn  and  One  comes.4 

'  I  want  an  army  with  cannons  to  throw  down  the 
palace,'  said  the  youth  ;  and  instantly  there  was  a  tramp 
of  armed  men,  and  a  rumble  of  artillery  waggons. 

The  queen  was  sitting  at  dinner,  but  when  she  heard 
all  the  noise  she  came  to  the  window ;  meantime  the 
soldiers  had  surrounded  the  palace  and  pointed  their 
guns. 

'  What's  all  this  about !  What's  the  matter ! '  cried 
the  queen  out  of  the  window. 

'  The  matter  is,  that  I  want  my  purse  and  my  hat  back,' 
answered  the  youth. 

'  To  be  sure !  you  are  right ;  here  they  are.  I 
don't  want  my  palace  battered  down,  so  I  will  give  them 
to  you.' 

The  youth  went  up  to  receive  them ;  but  when  he  got 
upstairs  he  found  the  queen  sunk  half  fainting  in  a  chair. 

'  Oh  !  I'm  so  frightened ;  I  can't  think  where  I  put 
the  things.  Only  send  away  that  army  and  I'll  look  for 
them  immediately.' 

The  youth  sent  away  the  army,  and  the  queen  got  up 
and  began  looking  about  for  the  things. 

4  Tell  me,'  she  said,  as  she  wandered  from  one  cup- 
board to  another,  '  how  did  you,  who  are  such  a  shabby- 
looking  fellow,  manage  to  call  together  such  an  army  ? ' 

'Because  I've  got  this  horn,'  answered  the  youth. 
'  And  with  it  I  can  call  up  whatever  I  want,  and  if  you 
don't  make  haste  and  find  the  purse  and  the  hat,  I'll 
call  up  the  army  again  and  batter  down  the  palace  in  right 
earnest.' 


1 34  Favole. 

4  You  won't  make  me  believe  that ! '  replied  the  queen. 
1  That  sorry  horn  can't  work  such  wonders  as  that :  let 
me  try.'  And  she  took  the  horn  out  of  his  hands  and 
sounded  it  and  One  appeared.  '  Two  stout  men ! '  she 
commanded  quickly ;  and  when  they  came  she  bid  them 
drive  the  shabby-looking  youth  out  of  the  palace  and  give 
him  a  bastonata. 

He  was  now  quite  undone,  and  was  ashamed  to  go 
back  to  his  brothers.  So  he  wandered  away  outside  the 
town.  After  much  walking  he  came  to  a  vineyard,  where 
he  strolled  in ;  and  what  struck  him  was,  that  though  it 
was  January,  there  was  a  fine  fig-tree  covered  with  ripe 
luscious  figs. 

'This  is  a  godsend  indeed,'  he  said,  Ho  a  hungry 
man,'  and  he  began  plucking  and  eating  the  figs.  Before 
he  had  eaten  many,  however,  he  found  his  nose  had  begun 
to  grow  to  a  terrible  size ;  a  foot  for  every  fig. 

'  That'll  never  do ! '  he  cried,  and  left  off  eating  the 
figs  and  wandered  on.  Presently  he  came  to  another 
vineyard,  where  he  also  strolled  in  :  there,  though  it  was 
January,  he  saw  a  tree  all  covered  with  ripe  red  cherries.  '  I 
wonder  what  calamity  will  pursue  me  for  eating  them,' 
he  said,  as  he  gathered  them.  But  when  he  had  eaten  a 
good  many  he  perceived  that  at  last  his  luck  had  turned, 
for  in  proportion  as  he  ate  his  nose  grew  less  and  less,  till 
at  last  it  was  just  the  right  size  again. 

'  Xow  I  know  how  to  punish  the  queen,'  he  said,  and 
he  filled  a  bottle  with  the  juice  of  the  cherries,  and  went 
back  and  gathered  a  basketful  of  figs. 

These  figs  he  cried  under  the  palace  window,  and  as  he 
had  got  more  dusty  and  threadbare  with  his  late  wanderings 
no  one  recognised  him.  '  Figs  in  January !  that  is  a 
treat ! '  and  they  bought  up  the  whole  basketful.  Then 
as  they  ate,  their  noses  all  began  to  grow,  but  the 
queen,  as  she  was  very  greedy,  ate  twelve  for  her  share, 
so  that  she  had  twelve  feet  of  nose  added  to  the  length  of 


Twelve  Feet  of  Nose.  135 

hers.     It  was  so  long  that  it  trailed  behind  her  on  the 
ground  as  she  walked  along. 

Then  there  was  a  hue  and  cry  !  All  the  surgeons  and 
physicians  in  the  kingdom  were  sent  for,  but  could  do  no 
good.  They  were  all  in  despair,  when  our  youth  came  up 
disguised  as  a  foreign  doctor. 

'  Noses  !  I  can  heal  noses  !  whoever  has  got  too  much 
nose  let  him.  come  to  me!' 

All  the  inhabitants  gathered  round  him,  and  the  queen 
called  to  him  loudest  of  all. 

'  The  medicine  I  have  to  give  is  necessarily  a  very 
strong  one  to  effect  so  extraordinary  a  cure ;  therefore  I 
won't  give  it  to  the  queen's  majesty  till  she  has  seen  it 
used  on  all  her  servants,  beginning  with  the  lowest.' 

Taking  them  all  in  order,  beginning  with  the  lowest, 
he  gave  a  few  drops  of  cherry-juice  to  each,  and  all  their 
noses  carne  right. 

Last  of  all  the  queen  remained. 

*  The  queen  can't  be  treated  like  common  people,'  he 
said  ;  '  she  must  be  treated  by  herself.  I  must  go  into 
her  room  with  her,  and  I  can  cure  her  with  one  drop  of 
my  cordial.' 

'  You  think  yourself  very  clever  that  you  talk  of  curing 
with  one  drop  of  your  cordial,  but  you're  not  the  only 
person  who  can  work  wonders.  I've  got  greater  wonders 
than  yours.  I've  got  a  hat  which  makes  you  invisible,  a 
purse  that  never  is  empty,  and  a  horn  that  gives  you  every- 
thing you  call  for.' 

'  Very  pretty  things  to  talk  about,'  answered  the  pre- 
tended doctor,  '  but  such  things  don't  exist.' 

'  Don't  they ! '  said  the  queen.     '  There  they  are  ! ' 

And  she  laid  them  all  out  on  the  table. 

This  was  enough  for  him.  Taking  advantage  of  the 
lesson  she  had  given  him  by  her  example,  he  quickly  put 
on  the  hat,  making  himself  invisible  ;  after  that  it  was 
easy  to  snatch  up  the  other  things  and  escape  ;  nor  could 


1 36  Favote. 

anyone  follow  him.  He  lived  very  comfortably  for  the 
rest  of  his  life,  taking-  a  scudo  out  of  his  purse  for  what- 
ever he  had  to  pay,  and  his  brothers  likewise  got  on  very 
well  with  their  legacies,  for  he  restored  them  as  soon  as  he 
had  rescued  them  from  the  queen.  But  the  queen  re- 
mained for  the  rest  of  her  life  with  TWELVE  FEET  OF  NOSE. 

1  '  Dodici  palmi  di  naso,'  a  nose  twelve  palms  long.     Twelve  palms  make 
a  canna  and  a  half,  equal  to  three  metres. 

2  '  Ciuffoletto.'     '  What  is  a  '  ciuffoletto  ?  '  I  asked.     '  Much  the  same 
as  afravodo,'  the  narrator  answered ;  and  I  remembered  that  from  another, 
in  another  tale,  I  had  made  out  '  fravodo '  to  be  a  horn. 

3  That  the  second  of  the  three  sons  should  be  the  hero  of  the  story  is, 
I  think,  an  unusual  variation. 

4  See  Note  4,  p.  146. 


A    YARD   OF  NOSE.1 

THEKE  was  once  a  poor  orphan  youth  left  all  alone,  with 
no  home,  and  no  means  of  gaining  a  living,  and  no  place 
of  shelter. 

Not  knowing  what  to  do  he  wandered  away  over  the 
Campagna,  straight  on ;  when  he  had  wandered  all  day 
and  was  ready  to  die  of  hunger  and  weariness,  he  at  last 
saw  a  fig-tree  covered  with  ripe  figs. 

'  There's  a  godsend ! '  said  the  poor  orphan  ;  and  he  set 
to  upon  the  figs  without  ceremony.  But,  lo !  he  had 
scarcely  eaten  half-a-dozen  when  his  nose  began  to  feel 
very  odd;  he  put  his  hand  up  to  it  and  it  felt  much 
bigger  than  usual ;  however,  he  was  too  hungry  to  trouble 
himself  about  it,  and  he  ate  on.  As  he  ate  on  his  nose 
felt  queerer  and  queerer ;  he  put  his  hand  up  and  found 
it  was  quite  a  foot 2  long !  But  he  was  so  hungry  he  went 
on  eating  still,  and  before  he  had  done  he  had  fully  a  yard 
of  nose. 

'  A  pretty  thing  I  have  done  for  myself  now  !  As 
well  might  I  have  died  of  starvation  as  make  myself 


A  Yard  of  Nose.  137 

such  an  object  as  this !  Never  can  I  appear  among 
civilised  beings  again.'  And  he  laid  himself  down  to 
sleep,  hiding  himself  in  the  foliage  of  the  fig-tree  lest 
anybody  passing  by  should  see  his  nose. 

In  the  morning  the  first  thing  he  thought  of  when  he 
awoke  was  his  nose ;  he  had  no  need  to  put  up  his  hand 
to  feel  it  for  it  reached  down  to  his  hand,  a  full  yard  of 
it  waggling  about. 

'  There's  no  help  for  it,'  he  said.  '  I  must  keep  away 
from  all  habitable  places,  and  live  as  best  I  may.' 

So  he  wandered  on  and  on  over  the  Campagna  away 
from  all  habitations,  straight  on ;  and  when  he  had 
wandered  all  day  and  was  ready  to  die  of  hunger  and 
weariness  he  saw  another  fig-tree  covered  with  ripe  figs. 

Eight  glad  he  was  to  see  anything  in  the  shape  of 
food.  '  If  it  had  only  been  anything  else  in  the  world 
but  figs ! '  he  said.  '  If  I  go  on  at  this  rate  I  shan't  be 
able  to  carry  my  nose  along  at  all !  Yet  starving  is 
hard,  too,  and  I'm  such  a  figure  now*  nothing  can  make 
me  much  worse,  so  here  goes  ! '  and  he  began  eating  at 
the  tigs  without  more  ado. 

As  he  ate  this  time,  however,  his  nose,  instead  of  feel- 
ing queerer  and  queerer  as  it  had  before,  began  to  feel 
lighter  and  lighter. 

Less,  less,  and  still  less  it  grew,3  till  at  last  he  had  to 
put  his  hand  up  to  feel  where  it  was,  and  by  the  time 
he  had  done  eating,  it  was  just  its  natural  size  again. 

'  Now  I  know  how  to  make  my  fortune  ! ' 4  he  cried, 
and  he  danced  for  delight. 

With  a  basketful  of  the  figs  of  the  first  tree  he 
trudged  to  the  nearest  town,  still  clad  in  his  peasant's 
dress,  and  cried,  '  Fine  figs !  fine  figs !  who'll  buy  my 
beautiful  ripe  figs ! ' 

All  the  people  ran  out  to  see  the  new  fruit-seller, 
and  his  figs  looked  so  tempting  that  plenty  of  people 
bought  of  him.  Among  the  foremost  was  the  host  of  the 


138  Favole. 

inn,  with  his  wife  and  his  buxom  daughter,  and  every 
one  of  them,  as  they  ate  the  figs  their  noses  began  to  grow 
and  grow  till  everyone  of  them  had  a  nose  fully  a  yard  long. 

Then  there  was  a  hue  and  cry  through  the  whole 
town,  everyone  with  his  yard  of  nose  dangling  and 
waggling,  came  running  out,  calling,  '  Ho  !  Here  I  Wretch 
of  a  fruit-seller  ! ' 5 

But  our  fruit-seller  had  had  the  good  sense  to  foresee 
the  coming  storm,  and  had  taken  care  to  get  far  out  of 
the  way  of  pursuit. 

But  the  next  day  he  dressed  himself  like  a  doctor,  all 
in  black,  with  a  long  false  beard,  and  came  to  the  same 
town,  where  he  entered  the  druggist's6  shop,  and  gave 
himself  out  for  a  great  doctor. 

'  You  come  in  good  season  ! '  said  the  druggist.  '  A 
doctor  is  wanted  here  just  now,  if  ever  one  was,  for  to 
everyone  almost  in  the  town  is  grown  a  nose 7  so  big !  so 
big !  in  fact,  a  full  yard  of  nose !  Anyone  who  could 
reduce  these  noses  might  make  a  fortune  indeed  ! ' 

'  Why,  that's  just  what  I  excel  at  of  all  things. 
Let  me  see  some  of  these  people,'  answered  our  pre- 
tended doctor. 

The  druggist  looked  incredulous  at  a  real  remedy 
turning  up  so  very  opportunely :  but  at  the  same  moment 
a  pretty  peasant  girl  came  into  the  shop  to  buy  some  medi- 
cine for  her  mother ;  that  is,  she  would  have  been  pretty 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  terrible  nose,  which  made  a 
fright  of  her.  The  false  doctor  was  seized  with  compunc- 
tion when  he  saw  what  a  fright  his  figs  had  made  of  this 
pretty  girl,  and  he  took  out  some  figs  of  the  other  tree 
and  gave  her  to  eat,  and  immediately  her  tremendous  nose 
grew  less,  and  less,  and  less,  and  she  was  a  pretty  girl  again. 
Of  course  it  need  not  be  said  that  he  did  not  give  her  the 
figs  in  their  natural  state  and  form  ;  he  had  peeled  and 
pounded,  and  made  them  up  with  other  things  to  disguise 
them. 


A  Yard  of  Nose.  139 

The  druggist  no  sooner  saw  this  wonderful  cure  than 
he  was  prompt  to  publish  it,  and  there  was  quite  a  strife 
who  should  have  the  new  doctor  the  first. 

It  was  the  innkeeper  who  succeeded  in  being  the  first 
to  possess  himself  of  him.  '  What  will  you  give  me  for 
the  cure  ?  '  said  the  strange  doctor. 

'  Whatever  you  have  the  conscience  to  ask,'  replied 
the  host,  panting  to  be  rid  of  the  monstrosity. 

'  Four  thousand  scudi  apiece,'  replied  the  false  doctor  ; 
and  the  host,  his  wife,  and  his  buxom  daughter  stood  in  a 
row  waiting  to  be  cured.  With  the  same  remedy  that 
had  cured  the  peasant  girl  he  cured  the  host  first,  and 
next  his  daughter.  After  he  had  cured  her  he  said, 
'  Instead  of  the  second  premium  of  four  thousand  scudi,  I 
will  take  the  hand  of  your  daughter,  if  you  like  ? ' 

'  Yes,  if  you  wish ;  it's  a  very  good  idea,'  replied  the 
host. 

'  Never,  while  I  live  ! '  said  the  wife. 

'  Why  not  ?  He's  a  very  good  husband  ! '  said  the 
host. 

'  An  ugly  old  travelling  doctor,  who  comes  no  one 
knows  whence,  to  marry  my  daughter  indeed  I '  said  the 
wife. 

'  I'm  sure  we're  under  great  obligations  to  his  clever- 
ness,' said  the  husband. 

'Then  let  him  be  paid  his  price,  and  go  about  his 
business,  and  not  talk  impudence ! '  said  the  wife. 

'But  I  choose  that  he  shall  marry  her!'  said  the 
husband. 

'  And  /  choose  that  he  shan't,'  said  the  wife ;  '  and 
you'll  find  that  much  stronger.' 

Just  then  a  customer  came  in,  and  the  host  had  to  go 
and  attend  upon  him,  and  while  he  was  gone  the  wife 
called  the  servants,  and  bade  them  turn  the  doctor  out, 
and  give  him  a  good  drubbing  into  the  bargain,  saying, 
'  I'll  have  some  other  doctor  to  cure  me  ! ' 


1 40  Favole. 

So  he  left  them,  and  went  on  curing  people's  noses 
all  day,  till  he  had  made  a  lot  of  money.  Then  he  went 
away,  but  limping  all  the  time  from  the  beating  he  had 
received.  The  next  day  he  came  back  dressed  like  a 
Turk,  so  that  no  one  would  have  known  him  for  the  same 
man,  and  he  came  back  to  the  same  inn,  saying  he,  too, 
could  cure  noses. 

The  mistress  of  the  inn  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome, 
as  she  was  very  anxious  to  find  another  doctor  who  could 
cure  her  nose. 

'  My  treatment  is  effectual,  but  it  is  rude,'  said  the  pre- 
tended Turk.  '  I  don't  know  if  you'll  like  to  submit  to  it.' 

'  Oh  yes !  Anything,  whatever  it  may  be,  only  to  be 
rid  of  this  monstrous  nose,'  said  the  hostess. 

'  Then  you  must  come  into  a  room  by  yourself  with 
me,'  said  the  pretended  Turk  ;  <  and  I  have  a  stick  here 
made  out  of  the  root  of  a  particular  tree.  I  must  thump 
you  on  the  back  with  it,  and  in  proportion  as  I  thump  you 
the  nose  will  draw  in.  Of  course  it  will  hurt  very  much, 
and  make  you  cry  out,  so  you  must  tell  your  servants  and 
people  outside  that  however  much  you  may  call  they  are 
not  to  come  in.  For  if  they  should  come  in  and  interrupt 
the  cure,  it  would  all  have  to  be  begun  over  again,  and 
all  you  had  suffered  would  go  for  nothing.' 

So  the  hostess  gave  strict  orders,  saying,  '  I  am  going 
into  this  room  with  the  Turk  to  be  cured  by  him,  and 
however  much  I  may  call  out,  or  whatever  I  may  say, 
mind  none  of  you,  on  pain  of  losing  your  places,  open 
the  door,  or  come  near  the  room.' 

Then  she  took  the  Turk  into  a  room  apart,  and  shut 
the  door.  The  Turk  no  sooner  got  her  alone  than  he 
made  her  lie  with  her  face  downwards  on  a  sofa,  and  then 
— whack,  whack,  whack  ! 8  he  gave  her  such  a  beating  that 
she  felt  the  effects  of  it  to  the  end  of  her  days. 

Of  course  it  was  in  vain  she  screamed  and  roared  for 
help ;  the  servants  had  had  their  orders,  and  none  of  them 


The  Chicory -seller  and  Enchanted  Princess.     141 

durst  approach  the  room.      It  was   only  when  she  had 
fainted  that  the  Turk  left  her  alone  and  went  his  way. 

But  she  never  got  her  nose  cured,  and  he  married  the 
pretty  peasant  girl  who  was  the  subject  of  his  first  cure. 

1  '  Mezza  canna  di  Naso,'  half  a  cane  of  nose.     A  cane  is  the  former 
Roman  standard  measure,  and  was  exactly  equal  to  two  metres. 

2  '  Palmo,'  was  the  expression  used ;  the  Canna  was  divided  into  eight 
palms. 

9  '  Calava,  calava,  calava.' 

*  'Adesso  so'  a  cavallo.'     '  Now  I  am  on  the  way  to  fortune.' 

s  '  Quell'  fruttivendolo ' ;  '  quell'  uomo' !  '  quella  donna  !'  a  vulgar  way 
of  calling  after  people. 

6  '  Spezziale,'  a  druggist  ('  droghiere '  is  a  grocer).     It  is  the  custom  in 
Rome  for  the  doctors  of  the  poor  to  sit  in  the  druggists'    shops,  ready  to 
be  called  for. 

7  '  Nasone,'  a  big  nose. 

*  '  Pimperte ;  Pamperte !  Pumperte  ! ' 

[The  two  following  stories  contain  a  jumbling  mixture  of  the 
incidents  of  the  three  preceding,  set  in  a  different  framework ; 
more  or  less  mixed  up  with  those  in  the  stories  of  other  countries 
mentioned  at  p.  128.  Some  of  those  in  'The  Transformation 
Donkey '  occur  in  the  Siddhi  Kiir  story  of  '  The  Gold-spitting 
Prince,'  in  '  Sagas  from  the  Far  East,'  but  they  are  con- 
structed into  a  quite  different  tale.] 


TL.E  CHICORY-SELLER  AND   THE 
ENCHANTED  PRINCESS,1 

THERE  was  a  chicory-seller,  with  a  wife  and  a  son,  all  of 
them  dying  of  hunger,  and  sleeping  on  the  floor  because 
they  couldn't  afford  a  bed.  Once  when  they  went  out  in 
the  morning  to  gather  chicory,  the  son  found  such  a  large 
plant  of  it,  never  was  such  a  plant  seen,  it  took  them 
an  hour,  working  at  it  together,  to  pull  it  up,  and  it  filled 
two  great  bags.  What  is  more,  when  they  had  got  it  all 
up,  there  was  a  great  hole  in  the  ground. 


142  Favole. 

4  What  can  there  be  down  in  that  hole  ? '  said  the  son. 
'  I  must  go  and  see  ! '  In  he  jumped,2  and  down  he  went. 

Suddenly  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  splendid 
palace,  and  a  number  of  obsequious  servants  gathered 
round  him.  They  all  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  said, 

'  Your  lordship !  your  lordship  ! '  and  asked  him  what 
he  '  pleased  to  want.' 

So  there  he  was,  dressed  like  a  clodhopper,  and  all 
these  servants  dressed  like  princes,  bowing  and  scraping 
to  him. 

'  What  do  I  want  ?  '  said  the  lad  ;  '  most  of  all,  I  want 
a  dinner.' 

Immediately  they  brought  him  a  banquet  of  a  dinner, 
and  waited  on  him  all  the  time.  Dinner  over,  they 
dressed  him  like  a  prince. 

By-and-by  there  came  in  an  ugly  old  hag,  as  ugly  as 
a  witch,  who  said, 

'  Good  morning,  Prince ;  are  you  come  to  marry 
me?' 

'  I'm  no  prince  ;  and  I'm  not  come  to  marry  you  most 
certainly ! '  replied  the  youth. 

But  all  the  servants  standing  round  made  all  sorts  of 
gesticulations  that  he  should  say  'yes.' 

'  It's  no  use  mouthing  at  me,'  said  the  lad  ;  '  I  shall 
never  say  "  yes  "  to  that !  ' 

But  they  went  on  making  signs  all  round  that  he 
should  say  '  yes,'  till  at  last  they  bewildered  him  so,  that, 
almost  without  knowing  what  he  did,  he  said  '  yes.' 

Directly  he  had  said  '  yes,'  there  were  thunder  and 
lightning,  and  thunderbolts,  and  meteors,  and  howling  of 
wind,  and  storm  of  hail.  The  youth  felt  in  great  fear ; 
but  the  servants  said : 

'It  is  all  right.  She  you  thought  an  old  hag  is 
indeed  a  beautiful  princess  of  eighteen,  but  she  was  under 
a  spell ;  by  consenting  to  marry  her  you  have  ended  that 
spell,  if  you  can  only  stand  through  the  fear  of  this  storm 


The  Chicory-seller  and  Enchanted  Princess.      143 

for  three  days  .and  three  nights,  no  harm  can  come  to 
you,  and  we  also  shall  all  be  set  free.' 

The  whole  apartment  now  seemed  on  fire,  and  when 
that  ceased  for  a  time,  it  seemed  to  rain  fire  all  around. 

For  two  days  he  managed  to  endure,  but  on  the  third 
day  he  got  so  frightened  that  he  ran  away.  He  had  not 
much  bettered  his  condition,  however ;  for,  if  he  had  got 
away  from  the  magic  storms  of  the  under  world,  he  had 
come  into  real  storms  in  the  actual  world,  and  there  he 
was  alone  in  the  Campagna,  starving  and  destitute  again. 

At  last  an  old  man  appeared,  who  said  to  him : 

'  Why  were  you  so  foolish  as  to  run  away  ?  You  were 
told  no  harm  could  happen  to  you.  Now  you  have  nearly 
lost  all.  There  is,  however,  one  remedy  left.  Go  on  to 
the  top  of  that  high  mountain,  and  gather  the  grass  that 
grows  there,  and  bring  back  a  large  bundle  of  it,  and  give 
it  to  these  people  to  eat,  and  that  will  finish  what  you 
have  begun.  You  will  marry  the  princess,  and  share  her 
kingdom ;  and  all  her  people  will  be  set  free.  For  all 
those  who  waited  on  you  as  servants  are  noblemen  of  her 
court,  who  are  under  a  spell.' 

'  How  am  I  to  get  up  to  the  top  of  that  high  moun- 
tain ? '  said  the  youth  ;  '  it  would  take  me  a  life  of  weari- 
ness to  arrive  there  ! ' 

'  Take  this  divining-rod,'  said  the  old  man,  '  and  what- 
ever difficulty  comes  in  your  way,  touch  it  with  this  wand, 
and  it  will  disappear.' 

The  youth  took  the  wand,  and  bent  his  steps  towards 
the  mountain.  There  were  rivers  to  be  crossed,  and  steep 
places  to  be  climbed,  and  many  perils  to  be  encountered, 
but  the  wand  overcame  them  all.  Arrived  at  the  top,  he 
saw  a  plat  of  fine,  long  grass  growing,  which  he  made  no 
doubt  was  the  grass  he  had  to  take.  But  he  thought 
within  himself, '  If  this  wand  can  do  so  much,  it  can  surely 
give  me  also  a  house  and  a  dinner ;  and,  then,  why  should 
I  toil  down  this  mountain  again  at  all ! ' 


1 44  Favole. 

'  Kod !  rod !  give  me  a  nice  little  house ! '  he  com- 
manded ; 3  and  there  was  a  nice  little  house  on  the  top  of 
the  mountain. 

'  Eod !  rod !  give  me  a  good  dinner ! '  and  a  good 
dinner  was  spread  on  the  table. 

And  thus  it  was  with  everything  he  wanted  ;  so  he 
went  on  living  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  without  think- 
ing of  those  he  had  to  deliver  in  the  hole  under  the 
earth. 

Suddenly,  there  stood  the  old  man.  '  You  were  not 
sent  here  to  amuse  yourself,'  said  he,  severely.  '  You  were 
sent  to  fetch  the  means  of  delivering  others ; '  and  he  took 
the  wand  away  from  him,  and  touched  the  casino,  and 
it  disappeared,  and  he  was  once  more  left  destitute. 

'  If  you  would  repair  the  past,'  said  the  old  man,  as  he 
went  away, '  gather  even  now  a  bundle  of  grass  and  take  it, 
and  perhaps  you  will  be  in  time  yet  ;•  but  you  will  have  to 
toil  alone,  for  you  have  forfeited  the  rod.  And  now,  re- 
member this  counsel :  whoever  meets  you  by  the  way  and 
asks  to  buy  that  grass,  sell  it  to  no  man,  or  you  are  un- 
done.' 

As  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done,  the  youth  set  to 
work  and  cut  some  grass,  and  then  terrible  was  the  way  he 
had  to  walk  to  get  down  again.  Storms  of  fire  broke 
continually  over  him,  and  every  moment  it  seemed  as 
though  he  would  be  precipitated  to  the  bottom. 

As  he  reached  the  plain  a  traveller  met  him. 

'  Oh,  you  have  some  of  that  grass,'  said  he.  '  I  was 
just  going  up  the  mountain  to  get  some.  If  you  will  give 
it  me,  and  save  my  journey,  I  will  give  you  a  prancing 
horse,  all  covered  with  gold  trappings  studded  with  pre- 
cious stones.' 

But  this  time  the  youth  began  to  pay  more  attention 
to  the  injunctions  laid  upon  him,  and  he  shook  his  head, 
and  walked  on. 

'  (rive  it  me,'  continued  the  stranger,  '  and  I  will  give 


The  Chicory -seller  and  Enchanted  Princess.      \  45 

you  in  return  -for  it  a  casino  of  your  own  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  where  you  may  live  all  your  life.' 

But  the  youth  shook  his  head,  and  continued  his  way, 
without  so  much  as  answering  him. 

'  Give  it  me,'  said  the  stranger  the  third  time,  '  and  I 
will  give  you  gold  enough  to  make  you  rich  all  your 
days.' 

But  the  youth  stood  out  the  third  temptation  as  well 
as  the  other  two,  and  then  the  stranger  disappeared. 

Without  further  hindrance  he  arrived  at  the  chicory- 
hole,  let  himself  down,  and  gave  the  grass  to  all  the 
people  to  eat,  who  were  half  dead  with  waiting  so  long  for 
him  ;  and  as  they  ate,  the  spell  ceased.  Only  as  he  had 
cut  the  grass  in  an  indolent  sort  of  way,  he  had  not 
brought  so  large  a  quantity  as  he  ought,  and  there  was 
one  poor  maiden  left  for  whose  deliverance  the  provision 
sufficed  not. 

Meantime  the  whole  face  of  the  country  was  changed. 
The  plain  was  covered  with  flourishing  cities  ;  over  the 
chicory-hole  was  a  splendid  palace,  where  the  maiden,  who 
had  under  the  spell  looked  like  an  old  hag,  took  up  her 
abode,  and  where  the  old  man  had  promised  that  he 
should  live  with  her  for  his  reward. 

This  reward  he  now  came  to  claim. 

'  But  you  have  not  completed  your  task,'  said  the 
princess. 

'  I  think  I  have  done  a  pretty  good  deal,'  answered  the 
youth. 

'  But  there  is  that  one  who  is  yet  undelivered.' 

'  Oh,  I  can't  help  about  one.  She  must  manage  the 
best  way  she  can.' 

'  That  won't  do,'  said  the  princess.  '  If  you  want  to 
have  me,  you  must  complete  your  work.' 

So  lie  had  to  toil  all  the  way  up  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  and  all  the  way  down  again,  and  at  last  the 
work  was  complete. 

L 


1 46  Favolc. 

Then  the  princess   married  him,  and  all  went  won- 
drously  well.3 

1  '  II  Cicoriaro  e  la  Principessa  fatata.' 

2  '  Fa  una  zompa  ; '  '  zompa '  for  '  zomba,'  properly  a  blow,  a  thump  ; 
here,  'jumped  down  with  a  noise  like  a  thump.' 

3  Bacchettone   di  comando,   suits  this  use  of  it  better  than  does  the 
English  equivalent. 

4  '  Ecco  il  vecchio  ! '  such  abrupt  interruptions,  with  change  of  tense,  are 
often  introduced  with   dramatic  effect  by  the  narrators.     A  similar  one 
occurs  at  p.  133.     'He sounds  the  horn  and  One  comes.' 

*  '  E  tutto  andava  benone ; '  '  bene,'  well ;  '  benone,'  superlatively  well. 


THE   TRANSFORMATION-DONKEY.1 

THERE  was  once  a  poor  chicory-seller :  all  chicory-sellers 
are  poor,  but  this  was  a  very  poor  one,  and  he  had  a  large 
family  of  daughters  and  two  sons.  The  daughters  he  left 
at  home  with  their  mother,  but  the  two  sons  he  took  with 
him  to  gather  chicory.  While  they  were  out  gathering 
chicory  one  day,  a  great  bird  flew  down  before  them  and 
dropped  an  egg  and  then  flew  away  again.  The  boys 
picked  up  the  egg  and  brought  it  to  their  father,  because 
there  were  some  figures  like  strange  writing  on  it  which 
they  could  not  read ;  but  neither  could  the  father  read  the 
strange  writing,  so  he  took  the  egg  to  a  farmer.2  The 
farmer  read  the  writing,  and  it  said  : — 

'  Whoso  eats  my  head,  he  shall  be  an  emperor. 
1  Whoso  eats  my  heart,  he  shall  never  want  for  money.' 
'  Ho,  ho  ! '  said  the  farmer  to  himself,  '  it  won't  do 
to  tell  the  fellow  this ;  I  must  manage  to  eat  both  the 
head  and  the  heart  myself.'  So  he  said,  '  The  meaning  of 
it  is  that  whoever  eats  the  bird  will  make  a  very  good 
dinner ;  so  to-morrow  when  the  bird  comes  back,  as  she 
doubtless  will  to  lay  another  egg,  have  a  good  stick  ready 
and  knock  her  down  ;  then  you  can  make  a  fire,  and  bake 
it  between  the  stones,  and  I  will  come  and  eat  it  with  you 
if  you  like.' 


The  Trans  formation- Donkey.  147 

The  poor  cMcory-seller  thought  his  fortune  was  made 
when  a  farmer  offered  to  dine  with  him,  and  the  hours 
seemed  long  enough  till  next  morning  came. 

With  next  morning,  however,  caine  the  bird  again. 
The  chicory-seller  was  ready  with  his  stick  and  knocked 
her  down,  and  the  boys  made  a  fire  and  cooked  the  bird. 
But  as  they  were  not  very  apt  at  the  trussing  and  cook- 
ing, the  head  dropped  into  the  fire,  and  the  youngest 
boy  said :  '  This  will  never  do  to  serve  up,  all  burnt  as  it 
is  ; '  so  he  ate  it.  The  heart  also  fell  into  the  fire  and  got 
burnt,  and  the  eldest  boy  said  :  '  This  will  never  do  to 
serve  up,  all  burnt  as  it  is ; '  so  he  ate  that. 

By-and-bv  the  farmer  came,  and  they  all  sat  down  on 
a  bank — the  farmer  quite  jovial  at  the  idea  of  the  im- 
mense advantage  he  was  going  to  gain,  and  the  chicory- 
seller  quite  elated  at  the  idea  of  entertaining  a  farmer. 

'  Bring  forward  the  roast,  boys,'  said  thlTiather ;  and 
the  boys  brought  the  bird. 

4  What  have  you  done  with  the  head  ? '  exclaimed  the 
farmer,  the  moment  he  saw  the  bird. 

'  Oh,  it  got  burnt,  and  I  ate  it,'  said  the  younger  boy. 

The  merchant  ground  his  teeth  and  stamped  his  foot, 
but  he  dared  not  say  why  he  was  so  angry ;  so  he  sat  silent 
while  the  chicory-seller  took  out  his  knife3  and  cut  the 
bird  up  in  portions. 

c  Give  me  the  piece  with  the  heart,  if  I  may  choose,' 
said  the  merchant ;  '  I'm  very  fond  of  birds'  hearts.' 

'  Certainly,  any  part  you  like,'  replied  the  "chicory- 
seller,  nervously  turning  all  the  pieces  over  and  over 
again ;  '  but  I  can't  find  any  heart.  Boys,  had  the  bird  no 
heart  ? ' 

'  Yes,  papa,'  answered  the  elder  brother,  '  it  had  a  heart, 
sure  enough ;  but  it  tumbled  into  the  fire  and  got  burnt, 
and  so  I  ate  it.' 

There  was  no  object  in  disguising  his  fury  any  longer, 
so  the  farmer  exclaimed  testily,  'Thank  you,  I'll  not 
•L  2 


I48  Favole. 

have  any  then  ;  the  head  and  the  heart  are  just  the  only 
parts  of  a  bird  I  care  to  eat.'  And  so  saying  he  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  away. 

'  Look,  boys,  what  you've  done !  You've  thrown  away 
the  best  chance  we  ever  had  in  our  lives ! '  cried  the  father 
in  despair.4  '  After  the  farmer  had  taken  dinner  with 
us  he  must  have  asked  us  to  dine  with  him,  and,  as  one 
civility  always  brings  another,  there  is  no  saying  what  it 
might  not  have  led  to.  However,  as  you  have  chosen  to 
throw  the  chance  away,  you  may  go  and  look  out  for  your- 
selves. I've  done  with  you.'  And  with  a  sound  cudgelling5 
he  drove  them  away. 

The  two  boys,  left  to  themselves,  wandered  on  till  they 
came  to  a  stable,  when  they  entered  the  yard  and  asked  to 
be  allowed  to  do  some  work  or  other  as  a  means  of  sub- 
sistence. 

'  I've  nothing  for  you  to  do,'  said  the  landlord  ;  '  but, 
as  it's  late,  you  may  sleep  on  the  straw  there,  on  the  con- 
dition that  you  go  about  your  business  to-morrow  first 
thing.' 

The  boys,  glad  to  get  a  night's  lodging  on  any  condi- 
tion, went  to  sleep  in  the  straw.  When  the  elder  brother 
woke  in  the  morning  he  found  a  box  of  sequins6  under  his 
head. 

'  How  could  this  have  come  here,'  soliloquised  the  boy, 
'  unless  the  host  had  put  it  there  to  see  if  we  were  honest  ? 
Well,  thank  Grod,  if  we're  poor  there's  no  danger  of  either 
of  us  taking  what  doesn't  belong  to  us.'  So  he  took  the 
box  to  the  host,  and  said :  '  There's  your  box  of  sequins 
quite  safe.  You  needn't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  test 
our  honesty  in  that  way.' 

The  host  was  very  much  surprised,  but  he  thought  the 
best  way  was  to  take  the  money  and  say  nothing  but  '  I'm 
glad  to  see  you're  such  good  boys.'  So  he  gave  them 
breakfast  and  some  provisions  for  the  way. 

Next  flight  they  found  themselves  still  in  the  open 


TJie  Transformation- Donkey.  149 

country  and  no  inn  near,  and  they  were  obliged  to  be 
content  to  sleep  on  the  bare  ground.  Next  morning  when 
they  woke  the  younger  boy  again  found  a  box  of  sequins 
under  his  head. 

'  Only  think  of  that  host  not  being  satisfied  with  try- 
ing us  once,  but  to  come  all  this  way  after  us  to  test  our 
honesty  again.  However,  I  suppose  we  must  take  it  back 
to  him.' 

So  they  walked  all  the  way  back  to  the  host  and  said : 
4  Here's  your  box  of  sequins  back ;  as  we  didn't  steal  it 
the  first  time  it  was  not  likely  we  should  take  it  the 
second  time.' 

The  host  was  more  and  more  astonished  ;  but  he  took 
the  money  without  saying  anything,  only  he  praised  the 
boys  for  being  so  good  and  gave  them  a  hearty  meal.  And 
they  went  their  way,  taking  a  new  direction. 

The  next  night  the  younger  brother  said:  'Do  you  know 
I've  my  doubts  about  the  host  having  put  that  box  of 
sequins  under  your  head.  How  could  he  have  done  it  out 
in  the  open  country  without  our  seeing  him  ?  To-night 
I  will  watch,  and  if  he  doesn't  come,  and  in  the  morning 
there  is  another  box  of  sequins,  it  will  be  a  sign  that  it  is 
your  own.' 

He  did  so,  and  next  morning  there  was  another  box 
of  sequins.  So  they  decided  it  was  honestly  their  own, 
and  they  carried  it  by  turns  and  journeyed  on.  About 
noon  they  came  to  a  great  city  where  the  emperor  was 
lately  dead,  and  all  the  people  were  in  great  excitement 
about  choosing  another  emperor.  The  population  was  all 
divided  in  factions,  each  of  which  had  a  candidate,  and 
none  would  let  the  candidate  of  the  others  reign.  There 
was  so  much  fighting  and  quarrelling  in  the  streets  that 
the  brothers  got  separated,  and  saw  each  other  no  more. 

At  this  time  it  happened  that  it  was  the  turn  of  the 
younger  brother  to  be  carrying  the  box  of  sequins.  When 
the  sentinels  at  the  gate  saw  a  stranger  coming  in  carrying 


1 50  Favole. 

a  box  they  said, '  We  must  see  what  this  is,'  and  they  took 
him  to  the  minister.  When  the  minister  saw  his  box  was 
full  of  sequins  he  said,  '  This  must  be  our  emperor.'  And 
all  the  people  said,  '  Yes,  this  is  our  emperor.  Long  live 
our  emperor  ! '  And  thus  the  boy  became  an  emperor. 

But  the  elder  brother  had  entered  unperceived  into 
the  town,  and  went  to  ask  hospitality  in  a  house  where 
was  a  woman  with  a  beautiful  daughter ;  so  they  let  him 
stay.  That  night  also  there  came  a  box  of  sequins  under 
his  head;  so  he  went  out  and  bought  meat  and  fuel 
and  all  manner  of  provisions,  and  gave  them  to  the 
mother,  and  said,  '  Because  you  took  me  in  when  I  was 
poor  last  night,  T  have  brought  you  all  these  provisions 
out  of  gratitude,'  and  for  the  beautiful  daughter  he 
bought  silks  and  damasks,  and  ornaments  of  gold.  But 
the  daughter  said,  '  How  comes  it,  tell  me,  that  you, 
who  were  a  poor  footsore  wayfarer  last  night,  have  now 
such  boundless  riches  at  command  ? '  And  because  she 
was  beautiful  and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  he  suspected  no 
evil,  but  told  her,  saying,  '  Every  morning  when  I  wake 
now,  I  find  a  box  of  sequins  under  my  head.' 

'  And  how  comes  it,'  said  she,  '  that  you  find  a  box  of 
sequins  under  your  head  now,  and  not  formerly  ? '  '  I  do 
not  know,'  he  answered,  unless  it  be  because  one  day  when 
I  was  out  with  father  gathering  chicory,  a  great  bird  came 
and  dropt  an  egg  with  some  strange  writing  on  it,  which 
we  could  not  read.  But  a  farmer  read  it  for  us  ;  only 
he  would  not  tell  us  what  it  said,  but  that  we  should 
cook  the  bird  and  eat  it.  While  we  were  cooking  it  the 
heart  fell  into  the  fire  and  got  burnt,  and  I  ate  it :  and 
when  the  farmer  heard  this  he  grew  very  angry.  I  think, 
therefore,  the  writing  on  the  egg  said  that  he  who  ate  the 
heart  of  the  bird  should  have  many  sequins.' 

After  this  they  spent  the  day  pleasantly  together ;  but 
the  daughter  put  an  emetic  in  his  wine  at  supper,  and  so 
made  him  bring  up  the  bird's  heart,  which  she  kept  for 


The  Transformation-Donkey.  151 

nerself,  and  the  next  morning  when  he  woke  there  was  no 
box  of  sequins  under  his  head.  When  he  rose  in  the 
morning  also  the  beautiful  girl  and  her  mother  turned 
him  out  of  the  house,  and  he  wandered  forth  again. 

At  last,  being  weary  and  full  of  sorrow,  he  sat  down  on 
the  ground  by  the  side  of  a  stream  crying.  Immediately 
three  fairies  appeared  to  him  and  asked  him  why  he  wept. 
And  when  he  told  them,  they  said  to  him  :  '  Weep  no 
more,  for  instead  of  the  bird's  heart  we  give  yon  this 
sheepskin  jacket,  the  pockets  of  which  will  always  be  full 
of  sequins.  How  many  soever  you  may  take  out  they  will 
always  remain  full.'  Then  they  disappeared  ;  but  he  imme- 
diately went  back  to  the  house  of  the  beautiful  girl,  taking 
her  rich  and  fine  presents ;  but  she  said  to  him,  '  How 
comes  it  that  you,  who  had  no  money  left  when  you  went 
away,  have  now  the  means  to  buy  all  these  fine  presents?  ' 
Then  he  told  her  of  the  gift  of  the  three  fairies,  and  they 
let  him  sleep  in  the  house  again,  but  the  daughter  called 
her  maid  to  her  and  said  :  '  Make  a  sheepskin  jacket 
exactly  like  that  in  the  stranger's  room.'  So  she  made 
one,  and  they  put  it  in  his  room,  and  took  away  the  one 
the  fairies  had  given  him,  and  in  the  morning  they  drove 
him  from  the  house  again.  Then  he  went  and  sat  down 
by  the  stream  and  wept  again ;  but  the  fairies  came  and 
asked  him  why  he  wept ;  and  he  told  them,  saying,  '  Be- 
cause they  have  driven  me  away  from  the  house  where  I 
stayed,  and  I  have  no  home  to  go  to,  and  this  jacket  has 
no  more  sequins  in  the  pockets.'  Then  the  fairies  looked 
at  the  jacket,  and  they  said,  '  This  is  not  the  jacket  we 
gave  you ;  it  has  been  changed  by  fraud  : '  so  they  gave 
him  in  place  of  it  a  wand,  and  they  said,  '  With  this  wand 
strike  the  table,  and  whatever  you  may  desire,  be  it  meat  or 
drink  or  clothes,  or  whatsoever  you  may  want,  it  shall  come 
upon  the  table.'  The  next  day  he  went  back  to  the  house 
of  the  woman  and  her  daughter,  and  sat  down  without 
saying  anything,  but  he  struck  the  table  with  his  wand, 


1 5  2  Favole. 

wishing  for  a  great  banquet,  and  immediately  it  was 
covered  with  the  choicest  dishes.  There  was  no  need  to 
ask  him  questions  this  time,  for  they  saw  in  what  his  gift 
consisted,  and  in  the  night,  when  he  was  asleep,  they  took 
his  wand  away.  In  the  morning  they  drove  him  forth 
out  of  the  house,  and  he  went  back  to  the  stream  and  sat 
down  to  cry.  Again  the  fairies  appeared  to  him  and  com- 
forted him  ;  but  they  said,  '  This  is  the  last  time  we  may 
appear  to  you.  Here  is  a  ring  ;  keep  it  on  your  hand  ; 
for  if  you  lose  this  gift  there  is  nothing  more  we  may  do 
for  you ; '  and  they  went  away.  But  he  immediately  re- 
turned to  the  house  of  the  woman  and  her  beautiful 
daughter.  They  let  him  in,  '  Because,'  they  said,  '  doubt- 
less the  fairies  have  given  him  some  other  gift  of  which 
we  may  take  profit.'  And  as  he  sat  there  he  said,  '  All 
the  other  gifts  of  the  fairies  have  I  lost,  but  this  one  they 
have  given  me  now  I  cannot  lose,  because  it  is  a  ring 
which  fits  my  finger,  and  no  one  can  take  it  from  my  hand.' 

'  And  of  what  use  is  your  ring  ? '  asked  the  beautiful 
daughter. 

'  Its  use  is  that  whatever  I  wish  for  while  I  have  it  on 
I  obtain  directly,  whatever  it  may  be.' 

'  Then  wish,'  said  she,  '  that  we  may  be  both  together 
on  the  top  of  that  high  mountain,  and  a  sumptuous 
merenda  7  spread  out  for  us.' 

'  To  be  sure  ! '  he  replied,  and  he  repeated  her  wish. 
Instantly  they  found  themselves  on  the  top  of  the  high 
mountain  with  a  plentiful  merenda  before  them ;  but  she 
had  a  vial  of  opium  with  her,  and  while  his  head  was 
turned  away  she  poured  the  opium  into  his  wine.  Pre- 
sently after  this  he  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  so  sound  that 
there  was  no  fear  of  waking  him.  Immediately  she  took 
the  ring  from  his  finger  and  put  it  on  her  own ;  then  she 
wished  that  she  might  be  replaced  at  home  and  that  he 
might  be  left  on  the  top  of  the  mountain.  And  so  it 
was  done. 


The  Transformation- Donkey.  153 

In  the  morning  when  he  woke  and  found  himself  all 
alone  on  the  top  of  the  high  mountain  and  his  ring  gone, 
he  wept  bitter  tears,  and  felt  too  weary  to  attempt  the 
descent  of  the  steep  mountain  side.  For  three  days  he 
remained  here  weary  and  weeping,  and  then,  becoming- 
faint  from  hunger,  he  took  some  of  the  herbs  that  grew  on 
the  mountain  top  for  food.  As  soon  as  he  had  eaten  these 
he  was  turned  into  a  donkey,8  but  as  he  retained  his  human 
intelligence,  he  said  to  himself,  this  herb  has  its  uses, 
and  he  filled  one  of  the  panniers  on  his  back  with  it. 
Then  he  came  down  from  the  mountain,  and  when  he  was 
at  the  foot  of  it,  being  hungry  with  the  long  journey,  he 
ate  of  the  grass  that  grew  there,  and,  behold!  he  was  trans- 
formed back  into  his  natural  shape ;  so  he  filled  the  other 
basket  with  this  kind  of  grass  and  went  his  way. 

Having  dressed  himself  like  a  street  seller,  he  took 
the  basket  of  the  herb  which  had  the  property  of  changing 
the  eater  into  a  donkey,  and  stood  under  the  window  of 
the  house  where  he  had  been  so  evil  entreated,  and  cried, 
'Fine  salad  !  fine  salad  I  who  will  buy  my  fine  salad  ?  '9 
'  What  is  there  so  specially  good  about  your  salad  ? ' 

asked  the  maid,  looking  out.      'My  young    mistress  is 

particularly  fond  of  salad,  so  if  yours  is  so  very  superfine, 

you  had  better  come  up.' 

He  did  not  wait  to  be  twice  told.     As  soon  as  he  saw 

the  beautiful  daughter,  he  said,  '  This  is  fine  salad,  indeed, 

the  finest  of  the  fine,  all  fresh  gathered,  and  the  first  of 

its  kind  that  ever  was  sold.' 

'  Very  likely  it's  the  first  of  its  kind  that  ever  was 

sold,'  said  she ;  '  but  I  don't  like  to  buy  things  I  haven't 

tried ;  it  may  turn  out  not  to  be  nice.' 

'  Oh,  try  it,  try  it  freely ;  don't  buy  without  trying ; '  and 

he  picked  one  of  the  freshest  and  crispest  bunches. 

She  took  one  in  her  hand  and  bit  a  few  blades,  and  no 

sooner  had  she  done  so  than  she  too  became  a  donkey. 

Then  he  put  the  panniers  on  her  back  and  drove  her  all 


154  Favoie. 

over  the  town,  constantly  cudgelling  her  till  she  sank 
under  the  blows.  Then  one  who  saw  him  belabour  her 
thus,  said,  '  This  must  not  be  ;  you  must  come  and  answer 
before  the  emperor  for  thus  belabouring  the  poor  brute ; ' 
but  he  refused  to  go  unless  he  took  the  donkey  with  him  ; 
so  they  went  to  the  emperor  and  said,  '  Here  is  one  who  is 
belabouring  his  donkey  till  she  has  sunk  under  his  blows, 
and  he  refuses  to  come  before  the  emperor  to  answer  his 
cruelty  unless  he  bring  his  donkey  with  him.'  And  the 
emperor  made  answer, '  Let  him  bring  the  beast  with  him.' 

So  they  brought  him  and  his  donkey  before  the 
emperor.  When  he  found  himself  before  the  emperor  he 
said,  '  All  these  must  go  away  ;  to  the  emperor  alone  can 
I  tell  why  I  belabour  my  donkey.'  So  the  emperor  com- 
manded all  the  people  to  go  to  a  distance  while  he  took 
him  and  his  donkey  apart.  As  soon  as  he  found  himself 
alone  with  the  emperor  he  said, '  See,  it  is  I,  thy  brother  ! ' 
and  he  embraced  him.  Then  he  told  him  all  that  had 
befallen  him  since  they  parted.  Then  said  the  emperor 
to  the  donkey,  '  Go  now  with  him  home,  and  show  him 
where  thou  hast  laid  all  the  things — the  bird's  heart,  the 
sheepskin  jacket,  the  wand,  and  the  ring,  that  he  may 
bring  them  hither ;  and  if  thou  deliver  them  up  faithfully 
I  will  command  that  he  give  thee  of  that  grass  to  eat 
which  shall  give  thee  back  thy  natural  form.' 

So  they  went  back  to  the  house  and  fetched  all  the 
things,  and  the  emperor  said,  '  Come  thou  now  and  live 
with  me,  and  give  me  of  thy  sequins,  and  I  will  share 
the  empire  with  thee.'  Thus  they  reigned  together. 

But  to  the  donkey  they  gave  of  the  grass  to  eat, 
which  restored  her  natural  form,  only  that  her  beauty  was 
marred  by  the  cudgelling  she  had  received.  And  she 
said,  '  Had  I  not  been  so  wilful  and  malicious  I  had 
now  been  empress.' 

1  '  La  Somara.' 

2  The  '  mercante  di   Campagna '  occupies  the  place  of  farmer  in  the 


Signor  Lattanzio.  1 5  5 

social  system  cf  Home;  that  is,  he  produces  and  deals  in  grain  and  cattle  ; 
there  is  '  buttaro'  (cattle  breeder)  besides  ;  but  the  characteristics  of  each 
are  so  different  that  the  one  does  not  well  translate  the  other. 

3  '  Cortello'  for  '  coltello'  (a  knife).      The  substitution  of  r  for  Jin  a 
good  many  words  is  a  common  Romanism. 

4  '  Dishperato '   for   '  disperato '  ('  out  of  himself  with  vexation '),  is 
another  Romanism  ;  as  also 

5  '  Bashtonata'  for  '  bastonata'  (a  cudgelling) ;  at  least  many  Romans, 
particularly   old-fashioned    people,  when   using  some  words  in  which  sp 
and  st   occur,  put  in   an  h   on    occasions   requiring   great  vehemence  of 
expression. 

6  Zecchini.     The  zecchino  was  the  gold  standard  coin  in  Rome  before 
that   of  the   scudo   was   adopted.     Its  value   was  fixed  in  the  reign   of 
Clement  XIII.,  1758,  at  two  scudi  and  twenty  bajocchi — something  between 
10s.  and  lls.;  it  was  current  till  a  few  years  back;  and  '  zecchini' is  a 
common  way  of  saying  '  money '  when  a  large  sum  is  spoken  of,  just  as 
we  still  talk  of  guineas. 

7  '  Merenda '  is  a  supplementary  meal  taken  at  any  time  of  day.     It  is 
not  exactly  lunch,  because  the  habit  of  taking  lunch  at  one  and  dining  late 
has  not  yet  obtained  to  any  great  extent  in  Rome  ;  and  where  it  has,  lunch 
is  called  '  dejeuner ' ;  breakfast  (i.e.  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll  early  in  the 
morning)  is  always  called  '  colazione.'     The  established  custom  of  Rome  is 
dinner  ('  pranzo,'  or  '  desinare,')  at  twelve,  and  supper  ('  cena ')  an  hour  or 
two  after  the  Ave,  varying,  therefore,  according  to  the  time  of  year,  from 
six  or  seven  till  nine  or  ten,  and  even  later.     '  Merenda'   is  a  light  meal 
between  'pranzo'  and  'cena'  of  not  altogether  general  use,  and  chiefly  on 
occasions  of  driving  outside  the  gates  to  spend  the  afternoon  at  a  country 
villa  or  casino. 

8  '  Soma '  is  a  burden  ;  '  somaro '  or  '  somura '  an  ass  used  for  carrying 
burdens.     Thus  in  the  next  line  it  is  spoken  of  as  having  panniers  on  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

9  'Che  bell'  insalatina ;  chi  vuol  insalatina;  che  bell'   insalatina!'  a 
common  form  of  crying.      'Che  belle  melaf    'What   fine   apples-!'  'Che 
belle  persiche  ! '  or  'What  fine  peaches  ! '  may  be  heard  all  the  year  round. 

[In  these  stories  we  have  had  the  actions  of  three  Fate, 
somewhat  resembling  English  fairies ;  in  the  following,  we  meet 
with  three  who,  as  often  happens  in  Roman  stories,  are  nothing 
better  than  witches.] 


SIGNOR  LATTANZIO. 

THEY  say  there  was  a  duke  who  wandered  over  the  world 
seeking  a  beautiful  maiden  to  make  his  wife. 

After  many  years  he  came  to  an  inn  where  was  a  lady, 
who  asked  him  what  he  sought. 


156  Favole. 

'  I  have  journeyed  half  the  earth  over,'  answered  the 
duke,  '  to  find  a  wife  to  my  fancy,  and  have  not  found 
one  ;  and  now  I  go  back  to  my  native  city  as  I  came.' 

'  How  sad ! '  answered  the  lady.  '  I  have  a  daughter 
who  is  the  most  beautiful  maiden  that  ever  was  made  ; 
but  three  fairies  have  taken  possession  of  her,  and  locked 
her  up  in  a  casino  in  the  Campagna,  and  no  one  can  get 
to  see  her.' 

'  Only  tell  me  where  she  is,'  replied  the  duke,  '  and 
I  promise  you  I'll  get  to  see  her,  in  spite  of  all  the  fairies 
in  the  world.' 

'  It  is  useless ! '  replied  the  lady.  '  So  many  have  tried 
and  failed.  So  will  you.' 

'  Not  I ! '  answered  the  duke.  '  Tell  me  how  they 
failed,  and  I  will  do  otherwise.' 

'  I  have  told  so  many,  and  all  say  the  same  as  you,  and 
all  go  to  seek  her,  but  none  ever  come  back.' 

4  Never  mind !  Tell  it  once  again,  and  I  promise  you 
it  shall  be  the  last  time,  for  I  will  surely  come  back.' 

'  If  you  are  bent  on  sacrificing  yourself  uselessly,'  pro- 
ceeded the  lady,  '  this  is  the  story.  You  must  go  to  the 
mountain  of  Russia,  and  at  the  foot  of  it  there  will  meet 
you  three  most  beautiful  maidens,  who  will  come  round 
you,  and  praise  you,  and  flatter  you,  and  pour  out  all 
manner  of  blandishments,  and  will  ask  you  to  go  into  their 
palace  with  them,  and  will  entreat  you  so  much  that  you 
will  not  be  able  to  resist ;  then  you  will  go  into  their 
palace  with  them,  and  they  will  turn  you  into  a  cat,  for 
they  are  three  fairies.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  you 
can  resist  only  for  the  space  of  one  hour  to  all  they  will 
say  to  you,  then  you  will  have  conquered,  and  they  will  be 
turned  into  cats,  and  you  will  have  free  access  to  my 
daughter  to  release  her.' 

'  I  will  go,'  said  the  duke  firmly ;  and  he  rose  up  and 
went  his  way  to  the  mountain  of  Russia. 

'Now,  if  all  these  other  men  have  failed  in  this  same 


Signor  Lattanzio.  1 5  7 

attempt,'  he  mused  within  himself  as  he  went  along-,  <  it 
behoves  me  to  be  prudent.  I  know  what  I  will  do ;  1 
will  put  a  bandage  over  my  eyes,  and  then  I  shan't  see  the 
fairies,  and  their  blandishments  will  have  no  power  over 
me.'  And  so  he  did. 

Then  the  fairies  came  out  to  him  and  said,  '  Signor 
Lattanzio !  welcome,  welcome !  how  fair  you  are ;  do 
take  the  bandage  off  and  let  us  see  you  ;  how  noble  you 
look.  Do  let  us  see  your  face  ?  We  are  dying  to  have 
you  with  us  ! ' 

But  the  duke  remained  firm,  and  seemed  to  take  no 
heed,  though  their  voices  were  so  soft  and  persuasive  that 
he  longed  to  look  at  them,  or  even  to  lift  up  one  corner  of 
the  bandage  and  take  a  peep.  But  he  remained  firm. 

'  Signor  Lattanzio  !  Signor  Lattanzio !  Don't  be  so 
ungallant,'  pursued  the  fairies.  «  Here  are  we  at  your  feet, 
as  it  were,  begging  you  to  give  us  your  company,  and  you 
will  not  so  much  as  speak  to  us,  or  even  look  at  us  ! ' 

But  the  duke  remained  firm,  and  seemed  to  take  no 
heed,  though  his  head  was  turned  by  their  accents,  and 
he  felt  that  if  he  could  only  go  with  them  as  they  wished 
he  should  want  no  more.  But  he  remained  firm. 

'  Signor  Lattanzio  !  Signor  Lattanzio  !  Signor  Lattan- 
zio ! '  cried  the  three  fairies  disdainfully,  for  now  they 
began  to  suspect  in  right  good  earnest  that  at  last  one 
had  come  who  was  too  strong  for  them.  'The -fact  is 
you  are  afraid  of  us.  If  you  are  a  man,  show  you  have 
no  fear,  and  come  and  talk  with  us.' 

But  the  duke  remained  firm,  though  a  vanity,  which 
had  nearly  lost  him,  whispered  that  it  would  be  a  grander 
triumph  to  look  them  in  the  face  and  yet  resist  them, 
than  to  conquer  without  having  ventured  to  look  at  them, 
yet  prudence  prevailed,  and  he  remained  firm. 

So  they  went  on,  and  the  duke  felt  that  the  hour  was 
drawing  to  a  close.  He  took  out  his  repeater  and  struck 
it,  and  the  hour  of  trial  was  over. 


1 5  8  Favole. 

'  Traitor  ! '  cried  the  three  fairies,  and  in  the  same 
instant  they  were  turned  into  cats.  Then  the  duke  went 
into  their  palace,  and  took  their  wand,  and  with  it  he 
could  open  the  gates  of  the  casino  where  the  lady's 
daughter  was  imprisoned. 

When  he  saw  her,  he  found  her  indeed  fairer  than 
the  fairest ;  fairer  even  than  his  conception. 

When,  therefore,  with  the  wand  he  had  restored  all 
the  cats  that  were  upon  the  mountain  to  their  natural 
shapes  as  those  that  had  failed  in  their  enterprise,  he  took 
her  home  with  him  to  be  his  wife. 

[As  this  was  told  me,  the  sign  by  which  the  duke  was  to 
recognise  the  three  fairies  was,  that  they  were  to  be  sweeping 
the  ground  with  their  breasts.  The  incident  seemed  so  ex- 
travagant, that  I  omitted  it  in  writing  out  the  story  ;  I  mention  it, 
however,  now  because  I  find  the  same  in  Note  1,  on  an  Albanian 
story,  to  p.  177,  in  Ealston's  '  Russian  Folk  Tales ' ;  I  met  the 
incident  subsequently  in  another  Roman  story. 

The  idea  which  has  prompted  this  tale  is  apparently  the  same 
as  that  which  has  given  rise  to  the  story  of  '  Odysseus  and  the 
Seirens.'  See  Cox's  '  Aryan  Mythology,'  II.  242.] 


HOW  CAJUSSE   WAS  MARRIED.* 

THERK  was  a  poor  tailor  starving  for  poverty  because  he 
could  get  no  work.  One  day  there  knocked  at  his  door  a 
good-natured-looking  old  man ;  the  tailor's  son  opened 
the  door,  and  he  won  the  boy's  confidence  immediately, 
saying  he  was  his  uncle.  He  also  gave  him  a  piastre 2  to 
buy  a  good  dinner.  When  the  father  came  home  and 
found  him  installed,  and  heard  that  he  called  himself 
his  son's  uncle,  and  would,  therefore,  be  his  own  brother, 
he  was  much  surprised ;  but  as  he  found  he  was  so  rich  and 
so  generous,  he  thought  it  better  not  to  dispute  his  word. 


How  Cajusse  was  Married.  159 

The  visitor  stayed  a  whole  month,  providing  all  expenses 
so  freely  all  the  time  that  everyone  was  delighted  with 
him,  and  when  at  last  he  came  to  take  leave,  and  proposed 
that  the  tailor's  boy  should  go  with  him  and  learn  some 
business  at  his  expense,  the  son  himself  was  all  eagerness 
to  go,  and  the  father,  too,  willingly  gave  his  consent. 

As  soon  as  they  had  gone  a  good  way  outside  the  gates 
the  stranger  said  to  the  boy,  4  It  is  all  a  dodge  about  my 
calling  myself  your  uncle.  I  am  not  your  uncle  a  bit ; 
only  I  want  a  strong  daring  sort  of  boy  to  do  something 
for  me  which  I  am  too  old  to  do  myself.  I  am  a  wizard,3 
and  if  you  do  what  I  tell  you  I  will  reward  you  well ;  but 
if  you  attempt  to  resist  or  escape  you  may  be  sure  you 
will  suffer  for  it.' 

'Tell  me  what  I  have  to  do,  before  we  talk  about 
resisting  and  escaping,'  replied  the  boy ;  '  maybe  I  shan't 
mind  doing  it.' 

They  were  walking  on  as  they  talked,  and  the  boy 
observed  that  they  got  over  much  more  ground  than  by 
ordinary  walking,  and  they  were  now  in  a  wild  desolate 
country.  The  wizard  said  nothing  till  they  reached  a  spot 
where  there  was  a  flat  stone  in  the  ground.  Here  he 
stopped,  and  as  he  lifted  up  the  stone,  he  said,  '  This 
is  what  you  have  to  do.  I  will  let  you  down  with  this 
rope,  and  you  must  go  all  along  through  the  dark  till  you 
come  to  a  place  where  is  a  beautiful  garden.  At  the  gate 
of  the  garden  sits  a  fierce  dog,  which  will  fly  out  at 
you,  and  bark  fearfully.  I  will  give  you  some  bread  and 
cheese  to  throw  to  him,  and,  while  he  is  devouring 
the  bread  and  cheese,  you  must  pass  on.  Then  all  man- 
ner of  terrible  noises  will  cry  after  you,  calling  you  back  ; 
but  take  no  heed  of  them,  and,  above  all,  do  not  look 
back ;  if  you  look  back  you  are  lost.  As  soon  as  you  are 
out  of  sound  of  the  voices  you  will  see  on  a  stone  an  old 
lantern,  take  that  and  bring  it  back  to  me.' 

The  boy  showed  no  unwillingness  to  try  his  fortune, 


1 60  Favole. 

and  the  magician  gave  him  the  bread  and  cheese  he  had 
promised,  and  let  him  down  by  a  rope.  He  gave  him 
also  a  ring,  saying,  '  If  anything  else  should  happen,  after 
you  have  got  the  lantern,  to  prevent  your  bringing  it 
away,  rub  this  ring  and  wish  at  the  same  time  for  deli- 
verance, and  you  will  be  delivered.' 

The  boy  did  all  the  wizard  had  told  him,  and  some- 
thing more  besides ;  for  when  he  got  into  the  garden  he 
found  the  trees  all  covered  with  beautiful  fruits,  which 
were  all  so  many  precious  stones ;  with  these  he  filled 
his  pockets  till  he  could  hardly  move  for  the  weight  of 
them  ;  then  he  came  back  to  the  opening  of  the  cave, 
and  called  to  the  wizard  to  pull  him  up. 

'  Send  up  the  lantern  first,'  said  the  magician, '  and  I'll 
see  about  pulling  you  up  afterwards.' 

But  the  boy  was  afraid  lest  he  should  be  left  behind  ;  so 
he  refused  to  send  up  the  lantern  unless  the  wizard  hauled 
him  up  with  it.  This  the  wizard  would  by  no  means  do. 
'  Ah !  the  youngster  will  be  frightened  if  I  shut  him 
up  in  the  dark  cave  a  bit,'  said  he,  and  closed  the  stone, 
meaning  to  call  to  him  by-and-by  to  see  if  he  had  come 
round  to  a  more  submissive  mind.  The  boy,  however, 
finding  himself  shut  up  alone  in  the  cave,  bethought  him 
of  the  ring,  and  rubbed  it,  wishing  the  while  to  be  at  home. 
Instantly  he  found  himself  there,  lantern  in  hand.  His 
parents  were  very  much  astonished  at  all  he  told  them  of 
his  adventures,  and,  poor  as  they  were,  were  very  glad 
to  have  him  safe  back. 

fc  I  wonder  what  the  magician  wanted  this  ugly  old 
lantern  for,'  said  the  boy  to  himself  one  day.  '  It  must 
be  good  for  something  or  he  would  not  have  been  so 
anxious  to  have  it ;  let  me  try  rubbing  it,  and  see  if  that 
answers  as  well  as  rubbing  the  ring.'  He  no  sooner  did 
so  than  One  4  appeared,  and  asked  his  pleasure.  '  A  table 
well  laid  for  dinner ! '  said  the  boy ;  and  immediately  a 
table  appeared  covered  with  all  sorts  of  good  things,  with 


How  Cajusse  was  Married.  161 

real  silver  spoons  and  forks.5  Then  he  called  on  his  mother 
and  father,  and  they  made  a  good  meal ;  after  that  they 
lived  for  a  month  on  the  price  of  the  silver  which  the 
mother  took  out  and  pawned.6  One  day  she  found  the 
town  all  illuminated.  '  What  is  going  on  ?  '  she  asked  of 
the  neighbours.  '  The  daughter  of  the  Sultan  is  going 
to  marry  the  son  of  the  Grand  Vizier,  and  there  is  a  distri- 
bution of  alms  to  the  people  on  the  occasion  ;  that  is  why 
they  rejoice.'  Such  was  the  answer. 

When  she  came  home  she  told  her  son  what  she  had 
heard.  He  said,  '  That  will  not  be,  because  the  daughter 
of  the  Sultan  will  have  to  marry  me ! '  but  she  only 
laughed  at  him.  The  next  day  he  brought  her  three  neat 
little  baskets  filled  with  the  precious  stones  which  he  had 
gathered  in  the  under-ground  garden,  and  he  said,  '  These 
you  must  take  to  the  Sultan,  and  say  I  want  to  marry 
his  daughter.'  But  she  was  afraid  and  would  not  go  ; 
and  when  at  last  he  made  her  go,  she  stood  in  a 
corner  apart  behind  all  the  people,  for  there  was  a  public 
audience,  and  came  back  and  said  she  could  not  get  at 
the  Sultan ;  but  he  made  her  go  again  the  next  two  days 
following,  and  she  always  did  the  same.  The  last  day, 
however,  the  Sultan  sent  for  her,  saying,  '  Who  is  that 
old  woman  standing  in  the  corner  quite  apart  ?  bring  her 
to  me.'  So  they  brought  her  to  him  all  trembling. 

'  Don't  be  afraid,  old  woman,'  said  the  Sultan.  '  What 
have  you  to  say  ? ' 

'  My  son,  who  must  have  lost  his  senses,  sent  me  to 
say  he  wanted  to  marry  the  daughter  of  the  Sultan,'  said 
the  old  woman,  crying  for  very  fear  ;  '  and  he  sends  these 
baskets  as  a  present.' 

When  the  Sultan  took  the  baskets  and  saw  of  what 
great  value  were  the  contents,  he  said,  '  Don't  be  afraid, 
old  woman ;  go  back  and  tell  your  son  I  will  give  him  an 
answer  in  a  month.' 

She  went  back  and  told  her  eon ;    but    at  the  end 


1 62  Favole, 

of  a  week  the  princess  was  married,  nevertheless,  to  the 
son  of  the  Grand  Vizier. 

'There!'  said  the  mother,  when  she  heard  it;  tl 
thought  the  Grand  Sultan  was  only  making  game  of  you. 
Was  it  likely  that  the  daughter  of  the  Sultan  should 
marry  a  beggar,7  like  you  ? ' 

4  Don't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry,  mother,'  replied  the 
lad ;  '  leave  it  to  me,  leave  it  to  me.'  8 

With  that  he  went  and  took  out  the  old  lantern,  and 
rubbed  it  till  One  appeared  asking  his  pleasure. 

*  G-o  to-night,  at  three  hours  of  night,' 9  was  his  reply, 
'  and  take  the  daughter  of  the  Sultan  and  lay  her  in  a 
poor  wallet  in  the  out-house  here.' 

At  three  hours  of  night  he  went  into  the  out-house 
and  found  the  princess  on  the  poor  wallet  as  he  had  com- 
manded. Then  he  laid  his  sabre  on  the  bed  between 
them,  and  sat  down  and  talked  to  her ;  but  she  was  too 
frightened  to  answer  him.  This  he  did  three  nights 
running.  The  princess,  however,  went  crying  to  her 
mother,  and  told  her  all  that  had  happened.  The  Sultana 
could  not  imagine  how  it  was.  '  But,'  she  said,  '  something 
wrong  there  must  be ; '  and  she  went  and  told  the 
Sultan,  and  he,  too,  said  it  was  all  wrong,  and  that  the 
marriage  must  be  annulled.  Also  the  son  of  the  Grand 
Vizier  went  to  his  father  and  complained,  saying,  '  Every 
night  my  wife  disappears  just  at  bed-time,  and,  though 
the  door  is  locked,  I  see  nothing  of  her  till  the  next 
morning.' 

His  father  too  said,  '  There  must  be  something  wrong,' 
and  when  the  Sultan  said  the  marriage  must  be  annulled, 
the  Grand  Vizier  was  quite  willing.  So  the  marriage  was 
annulled. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  the  lad  made  his  mother  go 
back  to  the  Sultan  for  his  answer,  and  he  gave  her  three 
other  baskets  of  precious  stones  to  take  with  her.  The 
Sultan,  when  he  saw  the  man  had  so  many  precious  stones 


How  Caj^lsse  was  Married.  163 

to  give  away,  thought  he  must  be  in  truth  a  prince  in  dis- 
guise, and  he  answered,  '  He  may  come  and  see  us.'  He 
also  said,  '  What  is  his  name  that  I  may  know  him  ?  ' 

And  his  mother  said,  'His  name  is  Cajusse.' 

So  she  went  home  and  told  her  son  what  the  sultan 
had  said.  Then  he  rubbed  the  lantern  and  asked  for  a 
suit  to  wear,  all  dazzling  with  gold  and  silver,  and  a  richly 
caparisoned  horse,  and  six  pages  in  velvet  dresses,  four  to 
ride  behind,  and  one  to  go  before  with  a  purse  scattering 
alms  to  the  people,  and  one  to  cry,  '  Make  place  for  the 
Signor  Cajusse ! '  Thus  he  came  to  the  sultan,  and  the 
sultan  received  him  well,  and  gave  him  his  daughter  to 
be  his  wife ;  but  Cajusse  had  brought  the  lantern  with 
him,  and  he  rubbed  it,  and  ordered  that  there  should 
stand  by  the  side  of  the  sultan's  palace  a  palace  a  great 
deal  handsomer,  furnished  with  every  luxury,  and  that  all 
the  windows  should  be  encrusted  round  with  precious 
stones,  all  but  one.  This  was  all  done  as  he  had  said, 
and  he  took  the  princess  home  with  him  to  live  there. 
Then  he  showed  her  all  over  the  beautiful  palace,  and 
showed  her  the  windows  all  encrusted  with  gems,  '  and  in 
this  vacant  one,'  said  he,  '  we  will  put  those  in  the  six 
baskets  I  sent  you  before  the  sultan  consented  to  our 
marriage ; '  and  they  did  so  ;  but  they  did  not  suffice. 

But  the  magician  meantime  had  learnt  by  his  incan- 
tations what  had  happened,  and  in  order  to  get  possession 
of  the  lantern  he  watched  till  Cajusse  was  gone  out  hunt- 
ing; then  he  came  by  dressed  as  a  pedlar  of  metal 
work,11  and  offered  to  exchange  old  lanterns  for  new  ones. 
The  princess  thought  to  make  a  capital  bargain  by  ex- 
changing Cajusse's  shabby  old  lantern  for  a  brand  new 
one,  and  thus  fell  into  his  snare.  The  magician  no  sooner 
had  possession  of  it  than  he  rubbed  it,  and  ordered  that 
the  palace  and  all  that  was  in  it  should  be  transported  on 
to  the  high  seas. 

The  sultan  happened  to  look  out  of  window  just  as  the 
at  2 


1 64  Favole. 

palace  of  Cajusse  had  disappeared.  '  What  is  this  ?  '  he 
cried.  And  when  he  found  the  palace  was  really  gone,  he 
uttered  so  many  furious  threats  that  the  people,  who  loved 
Cajusse  well,  ran  out  to  meet  him  as  he  came  home  from 
hunting,  and  told  him  of  all  that  had  happened,  and 
warned  him  of  the  sultan's  wrath.  Instead  of  going  back 
to  be  put  in  prison  by  the  sultan  therefore,  he  rubbed  his 
ring  and  desired  to  be  taken  to  the  place  wherever  the  prin- 
cess was.  Instantly  he  found  himself  on  a  floating  rock  in 
mid  ocean,  at  the  foot  of  the  palace.  Then  he  went  to 
the  gate  and  sounded  the  horn.12  The  princess  knew  her 
husband's  note  of  sounding  and  ran  to  the  window.  Grreat 
was  her  delight  when  she  saw  that  it  was  really  he,  and  she 
told  him  that  there  was  a  horrid  old  man  who  had  posses- 
sion of  the  palace,  and  persecuted  her  every  day  to  marry 
him,  saying  her  husband  was  dead.  And  she,  to  keep  him 
at  a  distance,  yet  without  offending  him  lest  he  should 
kill  her,  had  said  :  '  No,  I  have  always  resolved  never  to 
marry  an  old  man,  because  then  if  he  dies  I  should  be  left 
alone,  and  that  would  be  too  sad.'  '  But  when  I  say  that,' 
she  continued,  '  he  always  says,  "  You  need  not  be  afraid 
of  that,  for  I  shall  never  die  !  "  so  I  don't  know  what  to  say 
next.' 

Then  the  prince  said,  '  Make  a  great  feast  to-night, 
and  say  you  will  marry  him  if  he  tells  you  one  thing :  say 
it  is  impossible  that  he  should  never  die,  for  all  people 
die  some  day  or  other ;  it  is  impossible  but  that  there 
should  be  some  one  thing  or  other  that  is  fatal  to  him  ; 
ask  him  what  that  one  fatal  thing  is,  and  he,  thinking 
you  want  to  know  it  that  you  may  guard  him  against  it, 
will  tell ;  then  come  and  tell  me  what  he  says.' 

The  princess  did  all  her  husband  had  told  her,  and 
then  came  back  and  repeated  what  the  magician  had  said  : 
'  One  must  go  into  the  wood,'  she  repeated,  '  where  is  the 
beast  called  hydra,  and  cut  off  all  his  seven  heads.  In  the 
head  which  is  in  the  middle  of  the  other  six,  if  it  is  split 


How  Cajusse  was  Married.  165 

open,  will  be  found  a  leveret ;  if  this  leveret  is  caught 
and  his  head  split  open  there  is  a  bird  ;  if  this  bird  is 
caught  and  his  head  split  open,  there  is  in  it  a  precious 
stone.  If  that  stone  is  put  under  my  pillow  I  must  die.' 

The  prince  did  not  wait  for  anything  more  :  he  rubbed 
the  ring,  and  desired  to  be  carried  to  the  wood  where  the 
hydra  lived.  Instantly  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  hydra,  who  came  forward  spueing  fire.  But  Cajusse 
had  also  asked  for  a  coat  of  mail  and  a  mighty  sword,  and 
with  one  blow  he  cut  off  the  seven  heads.  Then  he  called 
to  his  servant  to  take  notice  which  was  the  head  which 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  other  six,  and  the  servant  pointed 
it  out.  Then  he  said,  '  Watch  when  I  split  it  open,  for  a 
leveret  will  jump  out.  Beware  lest  it  escapes.'  The 
servant  stood  to  catch  it,  but  it  was  so  swift  it  ran  past 
the  servant.  The  prince,  however,  was  swifter  than  it, 
and  overtook  it  and  killed  it.  Then  he  said,  'Beware 
when  I  split  open  the  head  of  the  leveret.  A  little  bird 
will  fly  out ;  mind  that  it  escapes  not,  for  we  are  undone 
if  it  escapes.'  So  the  servant  stood  ready  to  catch  the 
bird,  but  the  bird  was  so  swift  it  flew  past  the  servant. 
The  prince,  however,  was  swifter  than  the  bird,  and  he 
overtook  it  and  killed  it,  and  split  open  its  head  and  took 
out  the  precious  stone.  Then  he  rubbed  the  ring  and  bid 
it  take  him  back  to  the  princess.  The  princess  was  wait- 
ing for  him  at  the  window. 

'  Here  is  the  stone,'  said  the  prince ;  and  he  gave  it  to 
her,  and  with  it  a  bottle  of  opium.  '  To-night,'  he  said, 
1  you  must  say  you  are  ready  to  marry  the  wizard ;  make 
a  great  feast  again,  and  have  ready  some  of  this  opium  in 
his  wine.  He  will  sleep  heavily,  and  not  see  what  you 
are  doing ;  then  you  can  put  the  stone  uuder  his  pillow, 
and  when  he  is  dead  call  me.' 

All  this  the  princess  did.  She  told  the  wizard  that 
she  was  now  ready  to  do  as  he  wished.  The  magician  was 
jso  delighted  that  he  ordered  a  great  banquet. 


1 66  Favole. 

'  Here,'  said  the  princess  at  the  banquet,  *  is  a  little  of 
my  father's  choicest  wine,  which  I  had  with  me  in  the 
palace  when  it  was  brought  hither,'  and  she  poured  out 
to  him  to  drink  of  the  wine  mixed  with  opium. 

After  this,  when  the  wizard  went  to  bed,  he  was  heavy 
and  took  no  notice  what  she  did,  and  thus  she  put  the 
stone  under  his  pillow.  No  sooner  did  he,  therefore,  lay 
his  head  on  the  pillow  than  he  gave  three  terrible  yells, 
turned  himself  round  and  round  three  times,  and  was 
dead. 

There  was  no  need  to  call  the  prince,  for  he  had  heard 
the  death  yells,  and  immediately  came  up.  They  found 
the  lantern,  after  they  had  hunted  everywhere  in  vain, 
tied  on  to  the  magician's  body  under  all  his  clothes,  for 
he  had  hid  it  there  that  he  might  never  part  with  it. 
By  its  power  Cajusse  ordered  the  palace  to  be  removed 
back  to  its  place,  and  there  they  lived  happily  for  ever 
afterwards. 

1  '  II  Matrimonio  di   Cajusse,'  I  should  imagine  Caius  was  the  right 
reading.     Italians,  though  they  are  so  fond  of  clipping  off  the  final  vowel  of 
their  own  words,  whenever  they  get  hold  of  a  foreign  word  ending  in  a  con- 
sonant must  needs  always  add  a  syllable  on  to  it.      The  narrator  in  this 
instance   could  not   spell,  and  I  write   the  word  as  she  pronounced  it. 
Meeting  with  so  close  a  counterpart  of  'Aladdin's  Lamp,'  I  cross-questioned 
the  narrator  very  closely  as  to  whether  she  had  not  read  it,  but  she  assured 
me  most  solemnly  that  her  mother  had  told  it  her  when  she  was  not  more 
than  five  years  old  ;  that  it  was  impossible  she  could  have  read  it,  as  she 
could  only  read  very  imperfectly,  only  a  few  easy  sentences ;  she  had  never 
in  her  life  read  anything  long.     I  further  elicited  that  it  was  possible  her 
mother  might  have  read  it ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  she  said  this  rather 
to  improve  my  idea  of  her  family,  than  because  she  thought  it  was  really 
the  case. 

2  'Piastra.'      In  Melchiorri's   'Gnida  Metodica  di  Eoma,'  ed.    1856, 
in  the  list  of  moneys  current  the  half-scudo  is  put  down  as  '  commonly 
called   mezza  piastra.'     I    do    not    remember  to  have  heard   it  so  used 
myself,   though  I  have  heard  old  people  talk  of  piastres,  the  value  of 
which  would  thus  be  the  same  as  a  scudo,  or  about  five  francs :  an  old 
inhabitant  told  me  it  was  7£  bajocchi,  more  than  a  scudo. 

'  Mago.'  I  asked  the  narrator  what  her  idea  of  a  '  mago '  was,  and 
she  said,  '  Something  like  a  stregone  (masculine  of  &trega,  witch),  only  not 
quite  so  bad.' 


How  Cajusse  was  Married.  167 

4  Genii  having  no  place  in  modern  Italian  mythology,  the  '  Genius  of 
the  Lamp '  loses  his  identity  here. 

*  '  Posate,'  spoons  and  forks.     I  spare  the  reader  the  enumeration  of 
the  Eoman  dishes  which  were  detailed  to  me  as  figuring  on  the  table,  as  I 
have  had  to  quote  many  of  them  in  other  stories. 

6  '  I  always  used  to  wonder,'  observed  the  narrator  very  pertinently, 
'  as  my  mother  told  me  this,  why  they  didn't  rub  the  lamp  again  and  ask 
for  what  they  wanted,  instead  of  going    about   pawning    the  posate.     I 
suppose  they  had  forgotten  about  it.' 

7  '  Pezzente,'  a  sorry  fellow ;  literally  beggar. 

8  '  Che  ci  penso    io '    is   a    saying   ever   in   the  mouth  of   a  Roman. 
Whatever  you   may   be  giving   directions   about,  they  always    stop  you 
with  '  Lasci  far  a  me,  che  ci  penso  io '  ('  Leave  it  to  me  ;  I'll  manage  it.') 

•  'Tre  ore   di   notte'  means  three  hours  after  the  evening  Ave.      If 
it  was  summer-time  this  would  be  about  11  P.M.     A  subject  of  the  'Gran 
Sultan '  being  supposed    to    measure  time   by  the  Ave  Maria  is  not  one 
of  the  least  bizarre  of  traditionary  accretions. 

10  '  Chincaglieria,'  all  kinds  of  small  articles  of  metal-work. 

11  'Fravodo.'     As  I  had    never   heard   the  word    before,  I  was  very 
particular  in    making    the   narrator   repeat   it,  to   take   it    down.      She 
described  it  as  a  horn  or  trumpet,  but  I  cannot  meet  with  the  word  in 
any  dictionary. 

[The  introduction  into  this  story  of  the  dog  to  be  appeased 
with  a  sop,  and  the  hydra  to  be  slain,  no  trace  of  either  occurring 
in  '  Aladdin's  Lamp,'  is  noticeable ;  the  incident  of  the  unjewelled 
window  loses  its  point,  probably  through  want  of  memory.  The 
transporting  the  palace  into  the  middle  of  the  sea  is  a  novel 
introduction  ;  but  the  most  remarkable  change  is  in  the  mode  of 
compassing  the  death  of  the  magician.  This  episode  as  here 
described  enters  into  a  vast  number  of  tales.  It  occurs  in  a 
Hungarian  one  I  have  in  MS.  : — A  king  directs  in  dying  that  his 
three  sons  shall  go  out  to  learn  experience  by  adventure  before 
they  succeed  to  the  throne.  The  first  two  nights  of  the  journey 
the  two  elder  brothers  keep  watch  in  turn,  while  the  others  sleep, 
and  each  kills  a  dragon.  The  third  night,  Istvan  (Stephen),  the 
youngest,  keeps  watch,  and  is  enticed  away  by  the  cries  for  help 
of  a  frog,  which  he  delivers,  but  when  he  comes  back  the  watch- 
fire  is  out.  He  has  now  to  wander  in  search  of  fresh  fire  ;  he  sees 
a  spark  in  the  distance  and  makes  for  it ;  by  the  way  he  meets 
'  Dame  Midnight,'  who  tells  him  the  fire  is  a  week's  journey  off, 
so  he  binds  her  to  a  tree,  and  the  same  with  '  The  Lady  Dawn,' 
so  that  it  might  not  be  day  before  his  return.  In  a  week  he 


1 68  Favole. 

reaches  the  fire,  but  three  giants  guard  it,  who  are  laying  siege  to 
a  vdr  (fortress)  to  obtain  possession  of  three  beautiful  maidens, 
whom  they  destined  to  be  the  brides  of  the  King  of  the  Dwarfs 
and  of  the  very  two  dragons  his  brothers  had  killed.  But  before 
they  give  him  of  their  fire  they  say  he  must  help  them  in  the 
siege.  He,  however,  kills  them  by  stratagem,  and  makes  his 
way  into  the  princesses'  sleeping  apartment,  takes  three  pledges 
of  his  having  been  there,  and  returns  to  his  brothers.  They  con- 
tinue their  wanderings  till  they  come  to  an  inn  where  the  three 
princesses  and  the  king  their  father  have  established  themselves 
in  disguise,  and  make  all  who  pass  that  way  tell  the  tale  of  their 
adventures  as  a  means  of  discovering  who  it  was  delivered  them 
from  the  giants.  The  princes  make  themselves  known,  and  the  king 
bestows  his  daughters  on  them.  As  they  drive  home  with  their 
brides,  they  pass  the  Dwarf- King  in  a  ditch  by  the  roadside,  who 
implores  them  to  deliver  him.  The  two  elder  brothers  take  no 
notice.  Istvan  stops  and  helps  him  out.  The  dwarf  with  his  super- 
natural strength  thrusts  Istvan  back  into  the  ditch,  and  drives  off 
with  his  bride.  Istvan  sets  out  to  search  after  and  recover  her ; 
he  meets  the  frog  he  delivered,  who  gives  him  supernatural  aid, 
and  leads  him  through  heroic  adventures  in  which  he  does  service 
to  other  persons  and  animals,  who  in  turn  assist  him  by  directing 
him  to  the  palace  of  the  Dwarf-King  Here  exactly  the  same 
scene  occurs  between  Istvan  and  his  bride  as  between  Cajusse  and 
the  sultan's  daughter,  and  they  lay  the  same  plan.  But  the 
Dwarf- King  is  more  astute  than  the  magician,  and  he  at  first 
tells  her  that  his  life's  safety  lies  in  his  sceptre,  on  which  she 
makes  him  give  her  the  sceptre,  '  that  she  may  take  care  of  it,' 
in  reality  intending  to  give  it  up  to  Istvan.  When  he  sees  her  so 
anxious  for  his  safety,  he  tells  her  it  is  not  in  the  sceptre,  but  he 
does  not  yet  tell  the  truth ;  he  next  says  it  is  in  the  royal  mantle, 
and  then  in  the  crown  (incidents  proper  to  the  version  of  Hun- 
gary, which  sets  so  great  store  by  the  royal  crown  and  mantle). 
Ultimately  he  confides  that  it  resides  in  a  golden  cockchafer, 
inside  a  golden  cock,  inside  a  golden  sheep,  inside  a  golden  stag, 
in  the  ninety-ninth  sziget  (island).  She  communicates  all  this  to 
Istvan.  He  overcomes  the  above-named  series  of  golden  animals 
by  the  aid  of  the  animals  he  lately  assisted,  and  thus  recovers  his 
bride. 


How  Cajusse  was  Married.  169 

All  these  incidents  (somewhat  differently  worked  in),  occur  in 
the  Norse  tale  of  '  The  Giant  who  had  no  Heart  in  His  Body,' 
and  in  the  Russian  '  Koschei  the  Deathless,*  and  in  many  others. 

I  have  other  of  the '  Arabian  Night '  stories,  told  with  the 
local  colouring  of  characters  and  incidents  proper  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Rome  ;  particularly  various  versions  of  '  The  Forty 
Thieves,'  leading  to  a  number  of  Brigand  stories,  for  which 
I  have  not  space  left  in  this  volume.] 


LEGENDARY   TALES   AND   ESEMPJ, 


WHEN  JESUS  CHRIST   WANDERED   ON  EARTH, 


ONE  day  the  Madonna  was  carrying  the  Bambino  through 
a  lupin-field,  and  the  stalks  of  the  lupins  rustled  so,  that 
she  thought  it  was  a  robber  coming  to  kill  the  Santo  Bam- 
bino.1 She  turned,  and  sent  a  malediction  over  the  lupin- 
field,  and  immediately  the  lupins  all  withered  away  and 
fell  flat  and  dry  on  the  ground,  so  that  she  could  see  there 
was  no  one  hidden  there.  When  she  saw  there  was  no  one 
hidden  there,  she  sent  a  benediction  over  the  lupin-field, 
and  the  lupins  all  stood  up  straight  again,  fair  and 
flourishing,  and  with  tenfold  greater  produce  than  they 
had  at  the  first. 


ONE  day  when  Jesus  Christ  was  grown  up,  and  went 
about  preaching,  He  came  to  a  certain  village  and  knocked 
at  the  first  door,  and  said,  'Give  me  a  lodging.' 2  But  the 
master  of  the  house  shut  the  door  in  his  face,  saying, 
'  Here  is  nothing  for  you.'  He  came  to  the  next  .house, 
and  received  the  same  answer ;  and  the  next,  and  the 
next,  no  one  in  all  the  village  would  take  Him  in. 
Weary  and  footsore,  He  came  to  the  cottage  of  a  poor 
little  old  woman,  who  lived  all  alone  on  the  outskirts, 
and  knocked  there.  'Who  is  there?'3  asked  the  old 
woman.  '  The  Master  with  the  Apostles,'  answered  Jesus 
Christ.  The  old  woman  opened  the  door,  and  let  them 
all  in.  '  Have  you  no  fire  ? '  asked  Jesus  Christ.  *  No 
fire  have  I,'  answered  the  old  woman.  Then  Jesus  Christ 
blessed  the  hearth,  and  there  came  a  pile  of  wood  on  it, 


1 74  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

and  a  fire  was  soon  made.  4  Have  you  nothing  to  give  us 
to  eat  ? '  asked  Jesus  Christ.  '  Nothing  worth  offering 
you,'  answered  the  old  woman  ;  '  here  is  a  little  fish '  (it 
was  a  little  fish,  that,  not  so  long  as  my  hand)  '  and 
some  crusts  of  bread,  which  they  gave  me  at  the  eating- 
shop  in  charity  just  now,  and  that's  all  I  have  ; '  and  she 
set  both  on  the  table.  '  Have  you  no  wine  ?  '  again  asked 
Jesus  Christ.  '  Only  this  flask  of  wine  and  water  they 
gave  me  there,  too  ; '  and  she  set  it  before  Him. 

Then  Jesus  Christ  blessed  all  the  things,  and  handed 
them  round  the  table,  and  they  all  dined  off  them,  and  at 
the  end  there  remained  just  the  same  as  at  the  beginning. 
When  they  had  finished,  He  said  to  the  old  woman,  '  This 
fire,  with  the  bread,  and  the  fish,  and  the  wine,  will  always 
remain  to  you,  and  never  diminish  as  long  as  you  live. 
And  now  follow  Me  a  little  way.' 

The  Master  went  on  before  with  His  Apostles,  and  the 
old  woman  followed  after,  a  little  way  behind.  And  be- 
hold, as  they  walked  along,  all  the  houses  of  that  inhospi- 
table village  fell  down  one  after  the  other,  and  all  the 
inhabitants  were  buried  under  them.  Only  the  cottage 
of  the  old  woman  was  left  standing.  When  the  judgment 
was  complete,  Jesus  Christ  said  to  her,  « Now,  return 
home.' 4 

As  she  turned  to  go,  St.  Peter  said  to  her,  'Ask  for  the 
salvation  of  your  soul.'  And  she  went  and  asked  it  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  He  replied,  '  Let  it  be  granted  you ! ' 


ONE  day  as  He  was  going  into  the  Temple,  He  saw 
two  men  quarrelling  before  the  door :  a  young  man  and 
an  old  man.  The  young  man  wanted  to  go  in  first,  and 
the  old  man  was  vindicating  the  honour  of  his  grey 
hairs. 

4  What  is  the  matter  ?  '  asked  Jesus  Christ ;  and  they 
showed  Him  wherefore  they  strove. 


WJien  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     175 

Jesus  Christ  said  to  the  young  man,  « If  you  are  de- 
sirous to  go  in  first,  you  must  accept  the  state  to  which 
honour  belongs,'  and  He  touched  him,  and  he  became  an 
old  man,  bowed  in  gait,  feeble,  and  grey-haired,  while 
to  the  old  man  He  gave  the  compensation  for  the  insult 
he  had  received,  by  investing  him  with  the  youth  of  the 
other. 

4 

IN  the  days  when  Jesus  Christ  roamed  the  earth,  He 
found  Himself  one  day  with  His  disciples  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  far  from  anything  like  home.  The  only  shelter  in 
sight  was  a  cottage  of  wretched  aspect.  Jesus  Christ 
knocked  at  the  door. 

'  Who  is  there  ? '  said  a  tremulous  voice  from  within. 

'  The  Master  with  the  disciples,'  answered  Jesus 
Christ.  The  man  didn't  know  what  He  meant ;  neverthe- 
less, the  tone  was  too  gentle  to  inspire  fear,  so  he  opened, 
and  let  them  all  in. 

'  Have  you  no  fire  to  give  us  ? '  asked  Jesus  Christ. 

'  I'm  only  a  poor  beggar.  I  never  have  any  fire,'  said 
the  man. 

'  But  these  poor  things,'  said  Jesus  Christ,  '  are  stiff 
with  cold  and  weariness ;  they  must  have  a  fire.' 

Then  Jesus  Christ  stood  on  the  hearth,  and  blessed  it, 
and  there  came  a  great  blazing  fire  of  heaped-up  wood. 
When  the  beggar  saw  it,  he  fell  on  his  knees  in  astonish- 
ment. 

'  Have  you  no  food  to  set  before  us  ? '  asked  Jesus 
Christ. 

'  I  have  one  loaf  of  Indian  corn,5  which  is  at  your  ser- 
vice,' answered  the  beggar. 

'  One  loaf  is  not  enough,'  answered  Jesus  Christ ; 
'  have  you  nothing  else  at  all  ? ' 

'  Nothing  at  all  about  the  place  that  can  be  eaten,' 
answered  the  beggar.  '  Leastwise,  I  have  one  ewe,  which 
is  at  your  service.' 


1 76  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

'  That  will  do,'  answered  Jesus  Christ ;  and  he  sent 
St.  Peter  to  help  the  man  to  prepare  it  for  dressing. 

'  Here  is  the  mutton,'  said  the  beggar ;  *  but  I  cannot 
cook  it,  because  I  have  no  lard.'  6 

1  Look  ! '  said  Jesus  Christ. 

The  beggar  looked  on  the  hearth,  and  saw  everything 
that  was  necessary  ready  for  use. 

'  Now,  then,  bring  the  wine  and  the  bread,'  said  Jesus 
Christ,  when  the  meat  was  nearly  ready. 

'  There  is  the  only  loaf  I  have,'  said  the  beggar,  setting 
the  polenta  loaf  on  the  table  ;  '  but,  as  for  wine,  I  never 
see  such  a  thing.' 

' Is  there  none  in  the  cellar?'  asked  Jesus  Christ. 

'  In  the  cellar  are  only  a  dozen  empty  old  broken  wine- 
jars  that  have  been  there  these  hundred  years ;  they  are 
well  covered  with  mould.'  Jesus  Christ  told  St.  Peter  to 
go  down  and  see,  and  when  he  went  down  with  the  beggar, 
there  was  a  whole  ovenful  of  fresh-baked  bread  boiling 
hot,7  and  beyond,  in  the  cellar,  the  jars,  instead  of  being 
broken  and  musty,  were  all  standing  whole  and  upright, 
and  filled  with  excellent  wine. 

'  See  how  you  told  us  falsely,'  said  St.  Peter,  to  tease 
him. 

*  Upon  my  word,  it  was  even  as  I  said,  before  you 
came.' 

'  Then  it  is  the  Master  who  has  done  these  wonderful 
things,'  answered  St.  Peter.  '  Praise  Him  ! ' 

Now  the  meat  was  cooked  and  ready,  and  they  all  sat 
down  to  table ;  but  Jesus  Christ  took  a  bowl  and  placed  it 
in  the  midst  of  the  table  and  said,  '  Let  all  the  bones  be 
put  into  this  bowl ; '  and  when  they  had  finished  he  took 
the  bones  and  threw  them  out  of  the  window,  and  said, 
'  Behold,  I  give  you  an  hundred  for  one.'  After  that  they 
all  laid  them  down  and  slept. 

In  the  morning  when  they  opened  the  door  to  go,  be- 
hold there  were  an  hundred  sheep  grazing  before  the  door. 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     177 

'  These  sheep  are  yours,'  said  Jesus  Christ ;  *  moreover, 
as  long  as  you  live,  neither  the  bread  in  the  oven  nor  the 
wine  in  the  cellar  shall  fail ; '  and  He  passed  out  and  the 
disciples  after  Him. 

But  St.  Peter  remained  behind,  and  said  to  the  man 
who  had  entertained  them,  '  The  Master  has  rewarded 
you  generously,  but  He  has  one  greater  gift  yet  which  He 
will  give  you  if  you  ask  Him.' 

1  What  is  it  ?  tell  me  what  is  it  ?  '  said  the  beggar. 

'  The  salvation  of  your  soul,'  answered  S.  Peter. 

*  Signore !  Signore !  add  to  all  Thou  hast  given  this 
further,  the  salvation  of  my  soul,'  cried  the  man. 

'  Let  it  be  granted  thee,' 8  answered  the  Lord,  and 
passed  on  His  way. 

5 

ANOTHER  day  Jesus  Christ  and  His  disciples  dined  at  a 
tavern.9 

'  What's  to  pay  ? '  said  Jesus  Christ,  when  they  had 
finished  their  meal. 

4  Nothing  at  all,'  answered  the  host. 

But  the  host  had  a  little  hunchback  son,  who  said  to 
him,  '  I  know  some  have  found  it  answer  to  give  these 
people  food  instead  of  making  them  pay  for  it ;  but  sup- 
pose they  forget  to  give  us  anything,  we  shall  be  worse  off 
than  if  we  had  been  paid  in  the  regular  way.  I  will  tell 
you  what  I'll  do  now,  so  as  to  have  a  hold  over  them.  I'll 
take  one  of  our  silver  spoons  and  put  it  in  the  bag  that 
one  of  them  carries,  and  accuse  them  of  stealing  it.' 

Now  St.  Peter  was  a  great  eater,  and  when  anything 
was  left  over  from  a  good  meal  he  was  wont  to  put  it  by 
in  a  bag  against  a  day  when  they  had  nothing.  Into  this 
bag  therefore  the  hunchback  put  the  silver  spoon. 

When  they  had  gone  on  a  little  way  the  young 
hunchback  ran  after  them  and  said  to  Jesus  Christ, — 

'  Signore !  one  of  these  with  you  has  stolen  a  spoon 
from  us.' 

N 


1 78  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

'  You  are  mistaken,  friend ;  there  is  not  one  of  them 
who  would  do  such  a  thing.' 

4  Yes,'  persevered  the  hunchback ;  '  it  is  that  one  who 
took  it,'  and  he  pointed  to  St.  Peter. 

'  I ! ! '  said  St.  Peter,  getting  very  angry.  '  How  dare 
you  to  say  such  a  thing  of  me  I ' 

But  Jesus  Christ  made  him  a  sign  that  he  should  keep 
silence. 

'  We  will  go  back  to  your  house  and  help  you  to  look 
for  what  you  have  lost,  for  that  none  of  us  have  taken  the 
spoon  is  most  certain,'  He  said ;  and  He  went  back  with 
the  hunchback. 

'  There  is  nowhere  to  search,'  answered  the  hunchback, 
'  but  in  that  man's  bag ;  I  know  it  is  there,  because  I  saw 
him  take  it.' 

'  Then  there's  my  bag  inside  out,'  said  St.  Peter,  as  he 
cast  the  contents  upon  the  floor.  Of  course  the  silver 
spoon  fell  clattering  upon  the  bricks. 

4  There  ! '  said  the  hunchback,  insolently.  '  Didn't  I 
tell  you  it  was  there  ?  You  said  it  wasn't ! ' 

St.  Peter  was  so  angry  he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak  ;  but  Jesus  Christ  answered  for  him  : 

'  Nay,  I  said  not  it  was  not  there,  but  that  none  of 
these  had  taken  it.  And  now  we  will  see  who  it  was  put  it 
there.'  With  that  He  motioned  to  them  all  to  stand  back, 
while  He,  standing  in  the  midst  and  raising  his  eyes  to 
Heaven,  said  solemnly, 

'  Let  whoso  put  it  in  the  bag  be  turned  to  stone  ! ' 

Even  as  He  spoke  the  hunchback  was  turned  into  stone. 


THERE  was  another  tavern,  however,  where  the  host  was 
a  different  sort  of  man,  and  not  only  said  he  would  take 
nothing  when  Jesus  Christ  and  His  disciples  dined  there, 
but  really  would  never  take  anything ;  nor  was  it  that  by 
any  miracle  he  had  received  advantages  of  another  sort, 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.      1 79. 

but  out  of  the  respect  and  affection  he  bore  the  Master  he 
deemed  himself  sufficiently  paid  by  the  honour  of  being 
allowed  to  minister  to  Him. 

One  day  when  Jesus  Christ  and  His  disciples  were  going 
away  on  a  journey,  St.  Peter  went  to  this  host  and  said, 
4  You  have  been  very  liberal  to  us  all  this  time  :  if  you  were 
to  ask  for  some  gift,  now,  you  would  be  sure  to  get  it.' 

'  I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything  that  I  want,'  said 
the  host.  'I  have  a  thriving  trade,  which  you  see  not 
only  supplies  all  my  wants,  but  leaves  me  the  means  of 
being  liberal  also ;  I  have  no  wife  to  provide  for,  and  no* 
children  to  leave  an  inheritance  to :  so  what  should  I  ask 
for  ?  There  is  one  thing,  to  be  sure,  I  should  like.  My 
only  amusement  is  playing  at  cards  :  if  He  would  give  me 
the  faculty  of  always  winning,  I  should  like  that ;  it  isn't 
that  I  care  for  what  one  wins,  it  is  that  it  is  nice  to  win. 
Do  you  think  I  might  ask  that  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  St.  Peter,  gravely.  *  Still  you 
might  ask  ;  He  is  very  kind.' 

The  host  did  ask,  and  Jesus  Christ  granted  his  desire. 
When  St.  Peter  saw  how  easily  He  granted  it,  he  said,  '  If 
I  were  you,  I  should  ask  something  more.' 

'  I  really  don't  know  what  else  I  have  to  ask,'  replied 
the  host,  '  unless  it  be  that  I  have  a  fig-tree  which  bears 
excellent  figs,  but  I  never  can  get  one  of  them  for  myself; 
they  are  always  stolen  before  I  get  them.  I  wish  He  would 
order  that  whoever  goes  up  to  steal  them  might  get  stuck 
to  the  tree  till  I  tell  him  he  may  come  down.' 

'  Well,'  said  St.  Peter,  '  it  is  an  odd  sort  of  thing  to  ask, 
but  you  might  try  ;  He  is  very  kind.' 

The  host  did  ask,  and  Jesus  Christ  granted  his  request. 
When  St.  Peter  saw  that  He  granted  it  so  easily,  he  said, 
*  If  I  were  you  I  should  ask  something  more.' 

'Do  you  really  think  I  might?'  answered  the  host. 
'  There  is  one  thing  I  have  wanted  to  ask  all  along,  only  I 
didn't  dare.  But  you  encourage  me,  and  He  seems  to  take 
«2 


1 80  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

a  pleasure  in  giving.     I  have  always  had  a  great  wish  to 
live  four  hundred  years.' 

'  That  is  certainly  a  great  deal  to  ask,'  said  St.  Peter, 
4  but  you  might  try  ;  He  is  very  kind.' 

The  host  did  ask,  and  Jesus  Christ  granted  his  petition, 
and  then  went  His  way  with  His  disciples.  St.  Peter  re- 
mained last,  and  said  to  the  host, '  Now  run  after  him,  and 
ask  for  the  salvation  of  your  soul.'  ('  St.  Peter  always  told 
them  all  to  ask  that,'  added  the  narrator  in  a  confidential 
tone.) 

'  Oh,  I  can't  ask  anything  more,  I  have  asked  so  much,' 
said  the  host. 

'  But  that  is  just  the  best  thing  of  all,  and  what  He 
grants  the  most  willingly,'  insisted  St.  Peter.  '  Eeally  ? ' 
said  the  host ;  and  he  ran  after  Jesus  Christ,  and-  said, 
4  Lord  !  who  hast  so  largely  shown  me  Thy  bounty,  grant 
me  further  the  salvation  of  my  soul.' 

'  Let  it  be  granted  ! '  said  Jesus  Christ ;  and  continued 
His  journey. 

All  the  things  the  host  had  asked  he  received,  and  life, 
passed  away  very  pleasantly,  but  still  even  four  hundred 
years  come  to  an  end  at  last,  and  with  the  end  of  it  came 
Death. 

-   « What!  is  that  you,  Mrs.  Death,10  come  already  ?  '  said 
the  host. 

'  Why,  it's  time  I  should  come,  I  think ;  it's  not  often 
I  leave  people  in  peace  for  four  hundred  years.' 

'  All  right,  but  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  have  such  a 
fancy  for  the  figs  of  that  fig-tree  of  mine  there;  I  wish 
you  would  just  have  the  kindness  to  go  up  and  pluck  a 
good  provision  of  them  to  take  with  me,  and  by  that  time 
I'll  be  ready  to  go  with  you.' 

'I've  no  objection  to  oblige  you  so  far,'  said  Mrs. 
Death ;  *  only  you  must  mind  and  be  quite  ready  by  the 
time  I  do  come  back.' 

*  Never  fear,'  said  the  host ;  and  Mrs.  Death  climbed  up 
the  fig-tiee. 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     1 8 1 

'  Now  stick  there  ! '  said  the  host,  and  for  all  her 
struggling  Mrs.  Death  could  by  no  means  extricate  herself 
any  more. 

'  I  can't  stay  here,  so  take  off  your  spell ;  I  have  my 
business  to  attend  to,'  said  she. 

*  So  have  I,'  answered  the  host ;  '  and  if  you  want  to 
go  about  your  business,  you  must  promise  me,  on  your 
honour,  you  will  leave  me  to  attend  to  mine.' 

'  I  can't  do  it,  my  man !  What  are  you  asking  ?  It's 
more  than  my  place  is  worth.  Every  man  alive  has  to 
pass  through  my  hands.  I  can't  let  any  of  them  off.' 

'  Well,  at  all  events,  leave  me  alone  another  four 
hundred  years,  and  then  I'll  come  with  you.  If  you'll 
promise  that,  I'll  let  you  out  of  the  fig-tree.' 

'  I  don't  mind  another  four  hundred  years,  if  you  so 
particularly  wish  for  them ;  but  mind  you  give  me  your 
word  of  honour  you  come  then,  without  giving  me  all  this 
trouble  again.' 

'  Yes !  and  here's  my  hand  upon  it,'  said  the  host,  as  he 
handed  Mrs.  Death  down  from  the  fig-tree. 

And  so  he  went  on  to  live  another  four  hundred  years. 
('  For  you  know  in  those  times  men  lived  to  a  very  great 
age,'  was  the  running  gloss  of  the  narrator.) 

The  end  of  the  second  four  hundred  years  came  too, 
and  then  Mrs.  Death  appeared  again.  '  Kemember  your 
promise,'  she  said,  'and  don't  try  any  trick  on  me  this 
time.' 

'  Oh,  yes  !  I  always  keep  my  word,'  said  the  host,  and 
without  more  ado  he  went  along  with  her. 

As  she  was  carrying  him  up  to  Paradise,  they  passed 
the  way  which  led  down  to  Hell,  and  at  the  opening  sat 
the  Devil,  receiving  souls  which  his  ministers  brought  to 
him  from  all  parts.  He  was  marshalling  them  into 
ranks,  and  ticketing  them  ready  to  send  off  in  batches  to 
the  distinct  place  for  each. 

'  You  seem  to  have  got  plenty  of  souls  there,  Mr, 


1 82  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

Devil,'  said  the  host.  '  Suppose  we  sit  down  and  play  for 
them  ? ' 

*  I've  no  objection,'  said  the  Devil.  '  Your  soul  against 
one  of  these.  If  I  win,  you  go  with  them  ;  if  you  win,  one 
of  them  goes  with  you.' 

'  That's  it,'  said  the  host,  and  picking  out  a  nice-look- 
ing soul,  he  set  him  for  the  Devil's  stake. 

Of  course  the  host  won,  and  the  nice-looking  soul  was 
passed  round  to  his  side  of  the  table. 

'  Shall  we  have  another  game  ? '  said  the  host,  quite 
cock-a-hoop. 

The  Devil  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  finally  he 
yielded.  The  host  picked  out  a  soul  that  took  his  fancy, 
for  the  Devil's  stake,  and  they  sat  down  to  play  again, 
with  the  same  result. 

So  they  went  on  and  on  till  the  host  had  won  fifteen 
thousand  souls  of  the  Devil.  '  Come,'  said  Death  when 
they  had  got  as  far  as  this,  '  I  really  can't  wait  any 
longer.  I  never  had  to  do  with  anyone  who  took  up  so 
much  time  as  you.  Come  along ! ' 

So  the  host  bowed  excuses  to  the  Devil  for  iiavin'g  had 
all  the  luck,  and  went  cheerfully  the  way  Mrs.  Death 
led,  with  all  his  fifteen  thousand  souls  behind  him.  Thus 
they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  Paradise.  There  wasn't  so 
much  business  going  on  there  as  at  the  other  place,  and 
they  had  to  ring  before  anyone  appeared  to  open  the  door. 

'Who's  there?'  said  St.  Peter. 

'  He  of  the  four  hundred  years  ! ' 

« And  what  is  all  that  rabble  behind  ? '  asked  St.  Peter. 

'  Souls  that  I  have  won  of  the  Devil  for  Paradise,' 
answered  the  host. 

« Oh,  that  won't  do  at  all,  here ! '  said  St.  Peter. 

1  Be  kind  enough  to  carry  the  message  up  to  your 
Master,'  responded  the  host. 

St.  Peter  went  up  to  Jesus  Christ.  '  Here  is  he  to 
whom  you  gave  four  hundred  years  of  life,'  he  said  ; 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     183 

c  and  he  has  brought  fifteen  thousand  other  souls,  who 
have  no  title  at  all  to  Paradise,  with  him.' 

'  Tell  him  he  may  come  in  himself,'  said  Jesus  Christ, 
4  but  he  has  nothing  to  do  to  meddle  with  the  others.' 

'  Tell  Him  to  be  pleased  to  remember  that  when  He 
came  to  my  eating-shop  I  never  made  any  difficulty  how 
many  soever  He  brought  with  Him,  and  if  He  had  brought 
an  army  I  should  have  said  nothing,'  answered  the  host ; 
and  St.  Peter  took  up  that  message  too. 

'  That  is  true  !  that  is  right ! '  answered  Jesus  Christ. 
'  Let  them  all  in !  let  them  all  in ! ' 

7 
TRET   OLIFO.11 

WHEN  Jesus  Christ  was  on  earth,  He  lodged  one  night  at 
a  priest's  house,  and  when  He  went  away  in  the  morning 
He  offered  to  give  His  host,  in  reward  for  his  hospitality, 
whatever  he  asked.  What  Pret'  Olivo  (for  that  was  his 
host's  name)  asked  for  was  that  he  should  live  a  hundred 
years,  and  that  when  Death  came  to  fetch  him  he  should 
be  able  to  give  her  what  orders  he  pleased,  and  that  she 
must  obey  him. 

'  Let  it  be  granted  ! '  said  Jesus  Christ. 

A  hundred  years  passed  away,  and  then,  one  morning 
early,  Death  came. 

'  Pret'  Olivo  !  Pret  Olivo  ! '  cried  Death,  '  are  you 
ready?  I'm  come  for  you  at  last.' 

'  Let  me  say  my  mass  first,'  said  Pret'  Olivo ;  '  that's  all.' 

'Well,  I  don't  mind  that,'  answered  Death;  'only 
mind  it  isn't  a  long  one,  because  I've  got  so  many  people 
to  fetch  to-day.' 

*  A  mass  is  a  mass,'  answered  Pret'  Olivo  ;  '  it  will  be 
neither  longer  nor  shorter.' 

As  he  went  out,  however,  he  told  his  servant  to  heap 
up  a  lot  of  wood  on  the  hearth  and  set  fire  to  it.  Death 


184  Legendary  Tales  and  Esetnpj. 

went  to  sit  down  on  a  bench  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
chimney,  and  by-and-by  the  wood  blazed  up  and  she 
couldn't  get  away  any  more.  In  vain  she  called  to  the 
servant  to  come  and  moderate  the  fire.  '  Master  told  me 
to  heap  it  up,  not  to  moderate  it,'  answered  the  servant ; 
and  so  there  was  no  help.  Death  continued  calling  in 
desperation,  and  nobody  came.  It  was  impossible  with 
her  dry  bones  to  pass  the  blaze,  so  there  she  had  to  stay. 

'  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear  !  what  can  I  do  ? '  she  kept  saying ; 
'  all  this  time  everybody  is  stopped  dying !  Pret'  Olivo  ! 
Pret'  Olivo  !  come  here.' 

At  last  Pret'  Olivo  came  in. 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  keeping  me  here  like  this  ? ' 
said  Death ;  *  I  told  you  I  had  so  much  to  do.' 

*  Oh,  you  want  to  go,  do  you  ? '  said  Pret'  Olivo, 
quietly. 

'  Of  course  I  do.  Tell  some  one  to  clear  away  those 
burning  logs,  and  let  me  out.' 

1  Will  you  promise  me  to  leave  me  alone  for  another 
hundred  years  if  I  do  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes ;  anything  you  like.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
keep  away  from  this  place  for  a  hundred  years.' 

Then  he  let  her  go,  and  she  set  off  running  with  those 
long  thin  legs  of  hers. 

The  second  hundred  years  came  to  an  end. 

'  Are  you  ready,  Pret'  Olivo  ? '  said  Death  one  morning, 
putting  her  head  in  at  the  door. 

'Pretty  nearly,'  answered  Pret'  Olivo.  'Meantime, 
just  take  that  basket,  and  gather  me  a  couple  of  figs  to 
eat  before  I  go.' 

As  she  went  away  he  said,  '  Stick  to  the  tree  '  (but  not 
so  that  she  could  hear  it)  ;  for  you  remember  he  had 
power  given  him  to  make  her  do  what  he  liked.  She  had 
therefore  to  stick  to  the  tree. 

'  Well,  Lady  Death,  are  you  never  going  to  bring  those 
figs  ? '  cried  Pret'  Olivo  after  a  time. 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     185 

'  How  can  I  bring  them,  when  you  know  I  can't  get 
down  from  this  tree?  Instead  of  making  game  of  me, 
come  and  take  me  down.' 

'  Will  you  leave  me  alone  another  hundred  years  if  I 
do?' 

'  Yes,  yes  ;  anything  you  like.  Only  make  haste  and 
let  me  go.' 

The  third  hundred  years  came  to  an  end,  and  Death 
appeared  again.  « Are  you  ready  this  time,  Pret'  Olivo  ?  ' 
she  cried  out  as  she  approached. 

'Yes,  this  time  I'll  come  with  you,'  answered  Pret' 
Olivo.  Then  he  vested  himself  in  the  Church  vestments, 
and  put  a  cope  on,  and  took  a  pack  of  cards  in  his  hand, 
and  said  to  Death,  '  Now  take  me  to  the  gate  of  Hell,  for 
I  want  to  play  a  game  of  cards  with  the  Devil.' 

'  Nonsense  ! '  answered  Death.  « I'm  not  going  to 
waste  my  time  like  that.  I've  got  orders  to  take  you  to 
Paradise,  and  to  Paradise  you  must  go.' 

'  You  know  you've  got  orders  to  obey  whatever  I  tell 
you,'  answered  Pret'  Olivo  ;  and  Death  knew  that  was  true, 
so  she  lost  no  more  time  in  disputing,  but  took  him  all 
the  way  round  by  the  gate  of  Hell. 

At  the  gate  of  Hell  they  knocked. 

« Who's  there  ? '  said  the  Devil. 

'  Pret'  Olivo,'  replied  Death. 

'  Out  with  you,  ugly  priest ! '  said  the  Devil.  '  I'm 
surprised  at  you,  Death,  making  game  of  me  like  that ; 
you  know  that's  not  the  sort  of  ware  for  my  market.' 12 

'  Silence,  and  open  the  door,  ugly  Pluto  ! 13  I'm  not 
come  to  stay.  I  only  want  to  have  a  game  of  cards  with 
you.  Here's  my  soul  for  stake  on  my  side,  against  the 
last  comer  on  your  side,'  interposed  Pret'  Olivo. 

Pret'  Olivo  won  the  game,  and  hung  the  soul  on  to  his 
cope. 

4  We  must  have  another  game,'  said  the  Devil. 

'  With  all  my  heart ! '  replied  Pret'  Olivo  ;  and  he  won 


1 86  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

another  soul.     Another  and  another  he  won$  and  his  cope 
was  covered  all  over  with  the  souls  clinging  to  it. 

Meantime,  Death  thought  it  was  going  on  rather  too 
long,  so  she  looked  through  the  keyhole,  and,  finding  they 
were  just  beginning  another  game,  she  cried  out  loudly ; 

4  It's  no  use  playing  any  more,  for  I'm  not  going  to  be 
bothered  to  carry  all  those  souls  all  the  way  up  to  Heaven 
— a  likely  matter,  indeed  ! ' 

Buc  Pret'  Olivo  went  on  playing  without  taking  any 
notice  of  her ;  and  he  hung  them  on  to  his  beretta,  till 
at  last  you  could  hardly  see  him  at  all  for  the  number  of 
souls  he  had  clinging  to  him.  There  was  no  place  for 
any  more,  so  at  last  he  stopped  playing. 

4  I'm  not  going  to  take  all  those  other  souls,'  said 
Death  when  he  came  out ;  '  I've  only  got  orders  to  take 
you.' 

'  Then  take  me,'  answered  Pret'  Olivo. 

Death  saw  that  the  souls  were  all  hung  on  so  that  she 
could  not  take  him  without  taking  all  the  rest ;  so  away 
she  went  with  the  lot  of  them,  without  disputing  any 
more. 

At  last  they  arrived  at  the  Gate  of  Paradise.  St. 
Peter  opened  the  door  when  they  knocked ;  but  when  he 
saw  who  was  there  he  shut  the  door  again. 

4  Make  haste ! '  said  Death  ;  '  I've  no  time  to  waste.' 

*  Why  did  you  waste  your  time  in  bringing  up  souls 
that  were  not  properly  consigned  to  you  ? '  answered  St. 
Peter. 

'  It  wasn't  I  brought  them,  it  was  Pret'  Olivo.  And 
your  Master  charged  me  I  was  to  do  whatever  he  told 
me.' 

'My  Master!  Oh,  then,  I'm  out  of  it,'  said  St. 
Peter.  '  Only  wait  a  minute,  while  I  just  go  and  ask  Him 
whether  it  is  so.'  St.  Peter  ran  to  ask ;  and  receiving  an 
affirmative  answer,  came  back  and  opened  the  gate,  and 
they  all  got  in. 


When  Jesus  Christ  Wandered  on  Earth.     187 

8 
DOMINE   QUO    VADIS. 

'  You  know,  of  course,  about  St.  Peter,  when  they  put 
him  in  the  prisons  here ;  he  found  a  way  of  escaping 
through  the  "  catacomboli,"  and  just  as  he  had  got  out 
into  the  open  road  again  he  met  Jesus  Christ  coming 
towards  him  carrying  His  cross.  And  St.  Peter  asked  Him 
what  he  was  doing  going  into  the  "  catacomboli."  But  Jesus 
Christ  answered,  "  I  am  not  going  into  the  '  catacomboli ' 
to  stay;  I  am  going  back  by  the  way  you  came  to  be 
crucified  over  again,  since  you  refuse  to  die  for  the  flock." 
Then  St.  Peter  turned  and  went  all  the  way  back,  and  was 
crucified  with  his  head  downwards,  for  he  said  he  was  not 
worthy  to  die  in  the  same  way  as  his  Master.' 

[Counterparts  of  these  stories  abound  in  the  collections  of  all 
countries;  in  the  Norse,  and  Gaelic,  and  Russian,  more  of  the 
pagan  element  seems  to  stick  to  them.  In  Grimm's  are  some 
with  both  much  and  little  of  it.  From  Tirol  I  have  given  two, 
which  are  literally  free  from  it,  in  '  Household  Stories  from  the 
Land  of  Hof er ; '  and  I  have  one  or  two  picked  up  for  me  by  a 
friend  in  Brittany,  of  which  the  same  may  be  said.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  meet  them  again  in  another  form  in  that  large 
group  of  strange  compounds,  of  which  '  II  Re  Moro,'  p.  97,  &c., 
are  the  Roman  representatives,  and  '  Marienkind,'  pp.  7-12, 
'  Grimm  Kinder  und  Hausmahrchen,'  ed.  1870,  the  link  between 
them.  In  the  minds  of  the  Roman  narrators,  however,  I  am 
quite  .clear  no  such  connexion  exists.  See  also  p.  207  infra. 

One  of  the  quaintest  legends  of  this  class  is  given  in  Scheible's 
'  Schaltjahr.'  It  is  meant  for  a  charm  to  drive  away  wolves.] 

'  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  St.  Peter  went  in  the  morning  out. 
As  our  Lady  went  on  before  she  said  (turning  about), 
"  Ah,  dear  Lord  !  whither  must  we  go  in  and  out  ? 
We  must  over  hill  and  dale  (roundabout). 
May  God  guard  the  while  my  flock  (devout). 
Let  not  St.  Peter  go  his  keys  without ; 
But  take  them  and  lock  up  the  wild  dogs'  *  snout, 
That  they  no  bone  of  them  all  may  flout."  ' 


*  '  Holzhund,'  I  suppose,  is  use  d  for  wild  dog. 


1 88  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

1  The  Holy  Babe. 

2  'Date  mi  un  po'  d'allogio  ;'  lit.,  Give  me  a  small  quantity  of  lodging 
— a  humble  mode  of  expression. 

3  'Chie?'  ('Who's  there') ;  but   the  humour  of  the  expression  here 
lies  in  its  being  the  invariable  Roman  custom  to  sing  out  '  Chi  e  ? '  and 
wait  till  '  Amici ! '  is  answered,  before  any  door  is  opened. 

4  Comp.  with  Legend  of  the  Marmolata  in  '  Household  Stories  from 
the  land  of  Hofer." 

5  '  Un  pagnotto  di  polenta '  was  the  expression  used,  meaning  a  great 
coarse  loaf  of  Indian  corn.     The  Boman  poor  have  much  the  same  con- 
tempt for  inferior  bread  that  we  meet  with  in  the  same  class  at  home,  none 
eat '  seconds '  who  can  possibly  avoid  it ;  but  the  pagnotto  di  polenta  is 
only  eaten  by  the  poorest  peasants. 

6  '  Strutto,'  lard,  enters  into  the  composition  of  almost  every  Eoman 
popular  dish. 

7  '  Che  bolliva,'  constantly  applied  in  Koman  parlance  to  solids  as  well 
as  liquids. 

8  The  narrator  was  an  admirable  reciter,  and  as  she  uttered  this  '  Vi  sia 
concessa,'  in  a  solemn  and  majestic  manner,  she  raised  her  hand  and  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  with  a  rapid  and  facile  gesture,  just  as  she  might  have 
seen  the  Pope  do  as  he  drove  through  Borne. 

9  '  Trattoria,'  can  only  be  translated  by  '  tavern,'  but  unfortunately  the 
English  word  represents  quite  a  different  idea  from  the  Eoman.     '  Tavern ' 
suggests  noise  and  riot,  but  a  '  trattoria  '  is  a  place  where  a  poor  Eoman 
will  take  his  family  to  dine  quietly  with  him  on  a  festa  as  a  treat. 

10  '  Death,'  being  feminine  in  Italian,  has  to  be  personified  as  a  woman. 
The  same  occurs  in  a  Spanish  counterpart  of  this  story  which  I  have  given 
under  the  title  of  '  Starving  John  the  Doctor '  in  '  Patranas.'     The  Spanish 
counterpart  of  the  rest  of  the  story  will  be  found  in  '  Where  one  can  dine 
two  can  dine '  ('  Un  Convidado  invida  a  ciento ')  in  the  same  series. 

11  '  Olive  the  priest.'    '  When  we  were  children,'  said  the  narrator,  'my 
father  used  to  tell  us  such  a  lot  of  stories  of  an  evening,  but  of  them  all 
the  two  we  used  to  ask  for  most,  again  and  again,  and  the  only  two  I  re- 
member, were  "  Mi  butto,"  and  "Pret'  Olivo."     Do  you  know  "Mi  butto"? 
We  used  to  shudder  at  it,  and  yet  we  used  to  ask  for  it.'     I  incautiously 
admitted  I  did  know  it,  instead  of  acquiring  a  fresh  version.      '  Then 
here  is  "  Pret'  Olivo."     I  don't  suppose  I  was  more  than   seven   then, 
and  now  I  am  thirty-five,  and  I  have  never  heard  it  since,  but  I'll  make 
the  best  I  can  of  it.    Of  course  it  is  not  a  true  story ;  we  knew  that  it  couldn't 
be  true,  as  anyone  can  see ;  but  it  used  to  interest  us  children.' 

12  '  Vaene  brutto  prete  !     Questa  non  e  roba  per  me.' 
13  '  Brutto  Plutone ! '     The  traditional  application  of  the  name  will  not 
have  escaped  the  reader. 


Pie  fro  Bailliardo.  189 


PIETEO  BAILLIARDO.^ 


WHAT  !  Never  heard  of  Pietro  Bailliardo  !  Surely  you 
must,  if  you  ever  heard  anything  at  all.  Why,  every- 
body knows  about  Pietro  Bailliardo  !  Why,  he  was  here 
and  there  and  everywhere  in  Eome ;  and  turned  every- 
body's head,  and  they  have  his  books  now,  that  they  took 
away  from  him,  locked  up  in  the  Holy  Office.2 

Pietro  Bailliardo  was  a  scholar  boy,  and  went  to  school 
like  other  boys.  One  day  he  found  at  a  bookstall  a  book 
of  divination  ; 3  with  this  he  was  able  to  do  whatever  he 
would,  and  wherever  he  was,  there  the  Devil  was  in  com- 
mand. 

He  fell  in  love  with  a  girl,  and  she  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him ;  and  one  day  afterwards  they  found  her 
on  Mont  Cavallo  with  a  great  fire  burning  round  her,  and 
everyone  who  passed  had  to  stir  the  fire  whether  he  would 
or  not. 

Whatever  he  wanted  he  ordered  to  come  and  it  came 
to  him,  and  nobody  could  resist  him. 

As  to  putting  him  in  prison  it  was  no  manner  of  use. 
One  day  when  they  had  put  him  in  prison  he  took  a  piece 
of  charcoal  and  drew  a  boat  on  the  white  prison  wall,  then 
he  jumped  into  it,  and  said  to  all  the  other  prisoners, '  Get 
in  too,'  and  they  got  in,  and  he  rowed  away,  and  next 
morning  they  were. all  loose  about  Eome.  But  there  was 
an  old  man  asleep  in  a  corner  of  the  prison,  and  the 
guards  came  to  him  and  said,  '  Where  are  all  the  prisoners 
gone  ? '  And  he  told  them  about  Pietro  Bailliardo  draw- 
ing the  boat  on  the  prison  wall  with  the  charcoal  and 
their  all  getting  away  in  it.  4  And  why  didn't  you  go 
too  ? '  asked  the  guards.  '  Because  I  was  asleep  so  com- 
fortably I  did  not  want  to  move,'  said  he.  ('  But  then,  how 
did  he  see  it  all  unless  Pietro  Bailliardo  had  him  put  under 


190  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

a  spell  on  purpose  that  he  might  tell  the  authorities  how 
he  had  defied  them  ? '  added  the  narrator.) 

Another  time  again  they  shut  him  up  in  prison,  and 
the  next  morning  when  they  came  to  look  for  him  they 
found  nothing  but  an  ass's  head  in  his  place,  which  he 
had  left  there  just  to  show  his  contempt  for  them. 

One  day  a  zealous  friar  met  him  and  warned  him  to 
repent.  'What  have  I  to  repent  of?'  said  he.  'I 
can  hear  mass  better  than  you,  for  I  can  hear  mass  in 
three  places  at  once.'  Then  he  went  away  and  made  the 
Devil  take  him  to  Constantinople  and  Paris  to  hear  mass 
at  each  while  all  at  one  and  the  same  time  he  was  hearing 
one  at  Rome  too !  Then  he  came  and  told  the  friar  what 
a  grand  thing  he  had  done.  But  the  friar  told  him  it  was 
worse  than  not  hearing  mass  at  all  to  attempt  to  use 
diabolical  arts  in  that  way. 

After  that  one  day  he  was  going  up  past  the  church  of 
SS.  John  and  Paul 4  when  the  Devil  met  him. 

'  Now,'  said  the  Devil,  4  you  have  had  your  swing  long 
enough  ;  I  have  come  to  fetch  you ! ' 

When  Pietro  Bailliardo,  who  had  set  all  the  world  at 
defiance  all  his  life,  saw  the  Devil  and  heard  him  say  he 
had  come  to  fetch  him,  he  was  seized  with  such  terror  that 
he  began  to  repent,  and  ran  inside  the  church.  The  Devil 
durst  not  follow  him  thither,  but  waited  outside  thinking 
he  would  soon  be  turned  out. 

But  Pietro  Bailliardo  took  up  a  great  stone  and  went 
and  kneeled  down  before  the  crucifix  and  smote  his  bare 
breast  with  the  big  stone,  saying  the  while,  '  Behold  I 
merciful  Lord,  I  beat  my  breast  with  this  stone  till  Thou 
bow  Thy  head  in  token  that  Thou  forgive  me.' 

And  he  went  on  beating  his  breast  till  the  blood  ran 
down,  and  at  last  our  Lord  had  compassion  on  him  and 
bowed  His  head  from  the  cross  to  him,  and  he  died  there. 
So  the  Devil  did  not  get  him. 


Pietro  Bailiiardo. 


191 


<  You  have  told  me  so  many  stories,  why  have  you  never 
told  me  anything  about  Pietro  Bailiiardo — don't  you  know 
about  him  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  know  about  him.  Who  in  Eome  doesn't 
know  about  him  ?  but  I  can't  remember  it  all.  I  know  he 
had  the  book  of  divination,  and  could  make  the  Devil  do 
whatever  he  chose  by  its  means.  And  then  one  day,  I 
don't  remember  by  what  circumstance,  he  was  led  to  do 
penance ;  but  he  would  do  it  in  his  own  way,  not  in  the 
right  way,  and  he  made  a  vow  to  the  Madonna  that  he 
would  pay  a  visit  to  some  shrine  in  Eome  and  to  S. 
Giacomo  di  Galizia,5  and  to  the  Santa  Casa  di  Loreto 
all  in  the  same  night.  As  devils  can  fly  through  the  air 
at  a  wonderful  pace  he  called  upon  a  devil  by  his  divining 
book  and  told  him  what  he  wanted ;  then  he  got  on  the 
back  of  the  devil  and  rode  away  through  the  air  and 
actually  visited  all  three  in  one  night. 

'  But  that  sort  of  penance  was  no  penance  at  all.  After 
that  he  did  penance  in  right  earnest  at  some  church,  I  for- 
get which.' 

'  Was  it  SS.  John  and  Paul  ?  '  I  asked. 

*  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  SS.  John  and  Paul.  And  you  knew 
it  all  the  time,  and  yet  have  been  asking  me !' 


*  Do  you  want  to  know  about  Pietro  Bailiiardo  too  ? ' 
said  the  old  man  who  had  given  me  No.  2  of  San  Giovanni 
Bocca  d'oro.  '  Oh,  yes ;  I  did  know  a  deal  about  him. 
This  is  what  I  can  remember. 

'  Pietro  Bailiiardo  had  a  bond 6  with  the  Devil,  by 
which  he  was  as  rich  as  he  could  be,  and  had  whatever 
he  wanted ;  but  the  day  came  when  the  compact  came 
to  an  end,  and  Pietro  Bailiiardo  quailed  as  that  day  ap- 
proached, for  he  knew  that  after  that  time  the  Devil  could 
take  him  and  he  could  not  resist. 


1 92  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

'  Before  noon  on  that  day,  therefore,  he  set  out  to  go 
to  St.  Paul's.' 

'To  SS.  John  and  Paul?'  asked  I,  full  of  the  former 
versions. 

'  No,  no !  to  the  great  St.  Paul's  outside  the  walls, 
where  the  monks  of  St.  Benedict  are  ;  and  he  waited  there 
all  day,  for  before  the  time  was  out  the  Devil  couldn't  take 
him.  At  last  evening  came  on,  and  the  chierico  7  wanted 
to  shut  the  church  up;  so  he  told  Pietro  Bailliardo  he  must 
go,  and  showed  him  to  the  door.  But  when  he  came  to 
the  door,  he  found  the  Devil  there  waiting  for  him  dressed 
like  a  paino.8  When  he  saw  that,  no  power  of  the 
chierico  could  make  him  go ;  so  the  chierico  was  obliged  to 
call  the  Father  Abbot. 

'  To  the  Father  Abbot  Pietro  Bailliardo  told  his  whole 
story,  and  the  Father  Abbot  said,  "  If  that  is  so,  come 
with  me  to  the  Inquisition,  and  tell  your  story  there  and 
receive  absolution."  Then  he  sent  for  a  carriage,  and  said 
to  the  driver,  "  Be  of  good  heart,  for  I  have  many  relics 
of  saints  with  me,  and  whatever  strange  thing  you  may 
see  or  hear  by  the  way,  have  no  fear,  it  shall  not  harm  you." 

'  The  Devil  saw  all  this,  and  was  in  a  great  fury,  for 
he  has  no  power  to  alter  future  events,  and  so  he  couldn't 
help  Pietro  Bailliardo  going  into  the  church  for  sanctuary 
before  the  time  was  up.  He  got  a  number  of  devils 
together,  therefore,  and  made  unearthly  and  terrible 
noises  all  the  way.  But  the  driver  had  confidence  in  the 
word  of  the  Abbot,  and  drove  on  without  heeding.  Only 
when  they  got  to  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo  the  noise  was  so 
tremendous  he  got  quite  bewildered  ;  moreover  the  bridge 
heaved  and  rocked  as  though  it  were  going  to  break  in 
twain. 

' "  Fear  nothing,  fear  nothing  !  Nothing  will  harm 
you,"  said  the  Father  Abbot ;  and  the  driver,  having  con- 
fidence in  his  words,  drove  on  without  heeding,  and  they 
arrived  safely  at  the  Palace  of  the  Inquisition. 


Pie  fro  JB ail  liar  do.  193 

'The  Father  Abbot  now  delivered  Pietro  Bailliardo 
over  to  the  Penitentiary,  to  whom,  moreover,  he  made 
confession  of  his  terrible  crimes,  and  begged  to  remain  to 
perform  his  penance  and  obtain  reconciliation  with  (rod. 

'  But  as  Pietro  Bailliardo  had  been  used  to  follow  his 
own  strange  ways  all  his  life,  he  must  needs  now  perform 
his  penance  too  in  his  own  strange  way.  Therefore  he  made 
a  vow  that  he  would  perform  such  a  penance  as  man  never 
performed  before  ;  and  this  penance  was  to  visit,  all  in  one 
night,  the  SS.  Crocifisso  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Office, 
S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia,  and  the  sanctuary  of  Cirollo.  All 
in  one  night  I ' 

'  Stop  I  S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia  I  know ;  we  call  it  S. 
James  of  Compostella  ;  but  the  sanctuary  of  Cirollo  !  I 
never  heard  of  that ;  where  is  it  ? ' 

'  Oh,  Cirollo  is  all  the  same  as  if  you  said  Loreto ;  the 
Madonna  di  Loreto ;  it  is  all  one.' 

I  appealed  to  one  sitting  there  who,  I  knew,  had  been 
brought  up  at  Loreto. 

'Yes,  yes,'  she  said.  'That  is  all  right;  Cirollo  is 
just  a  walk  from  Loreto.  Noi  altri  when  living  at 
Loreto  often  go  there,  but  those  who  come  from  far,  most 
often  don't ;  so  we  have  a  saying,  "  Who  goes  to  Loreto 
and  not  to  Cirollo,  he  sees  the  mother,  but  not  the  son."  9 
'  It  is  a  saying,  and  nothing  more.' 

'  Basta  ! '  interposed  the  old  man,  who,  like  other  old 
people,  was  apt  to  forget  the  thread  of  his  story  if  inter- 
rupted. « Basta  !  it  doesn't  matter  :  they  were  anyhow 
three  places  very  far  apart.10  So  Pietro  Bailliardo,  who 
couldn't  get  out  of  his  habit  of  commanding  the  devils, 
called  up  a  number  of  them,  and  said,  "  Which  of  all  you 
fiends  can  go  the  fastest  ?  "  and  the  devils,  accustomed  to 
obey  him,  answered  the  one  before  the  other,  some  one  way 
some  another,  each  anxious  to  content  him :  "  I,  like  light- 
ning," said  one  ;  "  I,  like  the  wind,"  said  another ;  but  "  I 
— I  can  go  as  fast  as  thought,"  n  said  another.  "  Ho  1  Here ! 
o 


194  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

You  fiend.  You,  who  can  travel  as  fast  as  thought. 
You  come  here,  and  take  me  to-night  to  St.  James  of 
Compostella,  and  to  the  sanctuary  of  Cirollo,  and  bring  me 
back  here  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Office  before  morning 
breaks." 

*  He  spoke  imperiously,  and  sprang  on  to  the  devil's 
back,  and  all  was  done  so  quickly  the  devil  had  no  time 
for  thought  or  hesitation. 

'  Away  flew  the  devil,  and  Pietro  Bailliardo  on  his 
back,  all  the  way  to  St.  James  of  Compostella,  and,  whr-r-r-r 
all  the  way  to  the  sanctuary  of  Cirollo,  fast,  fast  as  thought. 
Then  suddenly  the  devil  stopped  midway.  An  idea  had 
struck  him.  "  What  had  a  devil  to  do  with  going  about 
visiting  shrines  in  this  way ;  no  harm  had  been  done  to 
the  sacred  place ;  not  a  stone  had  been  injured;12  why  then 
had  they  gone  to  S.  Griacomo  ;  why  were  they  going  to 
Cirollo?" 

' "  Tell  me,  Ser  Bailliardo,"  said  he,  "  on  whose  ac- 
count am  I  sweating  like  this  ?  is  it  for  your  private 
account,  or  for  my  master's ;  because  I  only  obey  you  so 
long  as  you  command  in  his  name,  and  how  can  it  serve 
him  to  be  doing  pilgrim's  work  ?  " 

* "  Go  on,  ugly  monster !  don't  prate,"  13  answered 
Pietro  Bailliardo,  and  gave  him  at  the  same  time  a  kick 
in  each  flank  ;  and  such  was  his  empire  over  him  that  the 
devil  durst  say  no  more,  and  completed  the  strange  pil- 
grimage even  as  he  had  commanded.14 

« Thus  even  in  his  penitence  Pietro  Bailliardo  had  the 
devils  subject  to  him.  But  after  that  he  did  penance  in 
right  good  earnest,  only  he  chose  a  strange  way  of  his  own 
again. 

*  He  knelt  before  the  Crucifix  in  the  Chapel  of  the  In- 
quisition, and  he  took  a  great  stone  and  beat  his  breast 
with  it  and  said,  "  Lord,  behold  my  repentance ;  I  smite 
my  breast  thus  till  Thou  forgive  me."     And  when  the 
blood  flowed  down  the  Lord  had  compassion  on  him  and 


Pietro  Sail  liar  do.  195 

bowed  His  head  upon  the  cross  and  said,  "  I  have  forgiven 
thee ! " 

'  After  that  he  died  in  peace.' 

1  Unquestionably  a  very  exaggerated  tradition  of  the  aberrations  and 
final  submission  to  the  Church  of  Abelard  (Pietro  Abelardo  in  Italian), 
some  of  whose  writings  were  publicly  burnt  in  Rome  by  the  Inquisition  in 
1140. 

The  Office  of  the  Inquisition  behind  the  Colonnade  of  St.  Peter's. 

'  Libro  di  comando.'     A  book  of  divination. 

St.  John  and  Paul.     The  Church  of  the  Passionists  on  the  Coalian. 

I.e.  St.  lago  di  Compostella. 

'  Scrittura,'  a  written  compact. 

'  Chierico'  of  course  means  a  cleric,  but  in  common  parlance  it  is  re- 
served for  the  boy  who,  though  lay,  wears  a  clerical  dress  for  the  time  he  is 
serving  mass,  or  attending  to  the  church  generally.  In  the  present  instance 
it  would  probably  be  a  youth  in  minor  orders. 

*  '  Paino '  and '  paina  '  mean  one,  who,  according  to  his  or  her  condition, 
ought  to  be  dressed  in  the  national  style,  but  who  does  affect  to  dress  like 
a  gentleman  or  lady. 

9  '  Chi  va  a  Loreto 

E  non  va  a  Cirollo, 

Vede  la  Madre 

E  non  vede  il  figliuolo.' 

10  I  took  another  opportunity  of  asking  the  one  who  was  familiar  with 
Loreto,  about  Cirollo,  and  she  explained  its  introduction  into  the  story  to 
mean  that  he  was  not  to  pay  a  hasty  visit,  but  a  thorough  one,  even 
though  it  was  done  so  rapidly.     '  Cirollo,'  she  said,  '  is  a  poor  village  with 
few  houses,  but  the  church  is  fine,  and  the  Crucifix  is  reckoned  miracolosis- 
simo.'     In  Murray's  map  it  is  marked  as  Sirollo,  close  by  the  sea,  without 
even  a  pathway  from  Loreto,  about  five  miles  to  the  north ;  and  he  does 
not  mention  the  place  at  all  in  his  text. 

Subsequently  I  was  talking  with  another  who  called  herself  a  Marche- 
giana,  i.e.  from  the  March  of  Ancona,  in  which  Loreto  is  situated,  and 
boasted  of  having  been  born  at  Sinigallia,  the  birthplace  of  Pio  Nono. 
1  Have  you  ever  been  to  Loreto? '  I  asked  by  way  of  beginning  inquiry  about 
Cirollo. 

'  Yes ;  six  times  I  have  made  the  pilgrimage  from  Sinigallia,  and 
always  on  foot.'  she  replied  with  something  of  enthusiasm.  '  And  you  who 
have  travelled  so  far,  you  have  been  there  too,  of  course  ?  ' 

'  Not  yet,'  I  replied ;  '  but  I  mean  to  go  one  day ; '  and  just  as  I  was 
coming  to  my  question  about  Cirollo,  she  added  of  her  own  accord : 

'  Mind  you  do,  and  mind  when  you  go  you  go  to  Sirollo  too  (she  pro- 
nounced it  Sirollo  like  the  spelling  in  the  map).  '  Everyone  who  goes  to 
Loreto  ought  to  go  to  Sirollo.  There  is  a  Crucifix  there  which  is  miraco- 
losissimo' 


196  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

11  '  Quanto  la  mente  dell'  uomo.' 

14  '  Dispetto,"  an  affront,  rather  than  an  injury. 

13  '  Tira  via,  brutta  bestia,'  literally  '  fire  away ' — is  used  in  all  senses 
the  same  as  in  English. 

14  The  question  of  night  nights  through  the  air,  and  more,  whether  in 
the  body  or  out  of  the  body,  than  whether  they  were  ever  effected  at  all, 
was  one  of  the  most  hotly  contested  questions  of  demonographers.     Tarta- 
rotti,  lib.  I.  cap.  viii.   §   vi.,   winds  up  a  long  account  of  the  subject  with 
the  following : — '      ...     So  divided  was  opinion  on  the  subject,  not 
only  of  Catholics  as  against  heterodox,  but  between  Catholics  and  Catholics, 
that  after  reading  in  Delrio  '  qui  hsec  asserunt  somnia  esse  et  ludibrio  certe 
peccant  contra  reverentiam  Ecclesise   matri  debitam,'    and   '  Haec   opinio 
(somnia  hsec  esse)  tanquam  hseretica  est  reprobanda  ; '  and  in  Bartolomeo 
Spina,  *  Negare  quod  diabolus  possit  portare  homines  de  loco  in  locum  est 
hEereticum;'  you   may  see  in  Emmanuel   Rodriguez,    a   great  theologian 
and  canonist,  'Peccat  mortaliter  qui   credit  veneficos   aut   veneficas  vel 
striges  corporaliter  per  aera  vehi  ad  di versa  loca,  ut  illi  existimant ; '  while 
Navarro  mildly  says,  '  Credere  quod  aliquando,  licet  raro,  daemon  aliquis 
de  loco  in  locum,  Deo  permittente^  transportet  non  est  peccatum.' 

Tartarotti  supplies  a  long  list  of  writers  who,  in  the  course  of  the  six- 
teenth and  two  following  centuries,  took  the  opposite  sides  on  this  question, 
and  quotes  from  Dr.  John  Weir,  (Protestant)  physician  to  the  Duke  of 
Cleves  (In  Apol.  sec.  iv.  p.  582),  that  the  Protestants  were  most 
numerous  on  the  side  which  maintained  that  it  was  an  actual  and  cor- 
poreal and  not  a  mental  or  imaginative  transaction.  Cesare  Cantu  has 
likewise  given  an  exposition  of  the  treatment  of  the  question  in  '  Gli 
Eretici  d'ltalia,'  discorso  xxxiii.,  and  '  Storia  Universale,'  epoca  xv.  cap. 
14,  p.  488.  In  note  1  he  gives  a  list  of  a  dozen  of  the  most  celebrated 
Protestant  writers  who  upheld  the  actuality  of  the  witches'  congress. 


S.  GIOVANNI  BOCCA  D'ORO. 
1 

ST.  JOHN  of  the  Grolden  Mouth  was  another  famous 
penitent  we  had  here  in  Rome.  He  had  treated  a  num- 
ber of  young  girls  shamefully,  and  then  killed  them. 

But  one  day  the  grace  of  Grod  touched  him,  and  he 
went  o"ut  into  the  Campagna,  to  a  solitary  place,  and 
there,  with  a  wattle  of  rushes,  he  made  himself  a  hut,  and 
lived  there  doing  penance  far,  far  away  from  any  human 
habitation. 


St.  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro.  197 

One  day  a  king,  and  his  wife,  and  his  sons,  and  his 
daughter  all  went  out  to  hunt.  They  got  overtaken  by  a 
storm,  and  separated ;  some  hasted  home  in  one  direction, 
and  some  in  another,  but  the  daughter  they  could  not 
find  anywhere,  and  when  they  had  searched  everywhere 
for  many  days  and  could  not  find  her,  they  gave  her  up 
for  lost. 

But  she,  as  she  was  running,  had  seen  the  hut  of 
St.  John  of  the  Grolden  Mouth,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

'  Begone  ! '  shouted  the  penitent,  thinking  it  was  the 
Devil  come  to  tempt  him. 

But  she  continued  knocking. 

*  Begone  !  Out  into  the  wild  !  nor  disturb  my  peace, 
Evil  One  ! '  shouted  he  again. 

'  I  am  not  the  Evil  One,'  answered  the  princess ;  '  I 
am  only  a  woman ;  I  have  lost  my  way,  and  crave  shelter 
from  the  storm.' 

When  he  heard  that,  he  got  up  and  let  her  in ;  but 
when  he  saw  her,  he  could  not  resist  treating  her  as  he 
had  treated  the  other  maidens.  Then  he  killed  her,  and 
threw  her  body  into  a  well. 

But  the  next  day,  when  he  came  to  think  of  what  he 
had  done,  he  said  to  himself, 

'  How  is  it  possible  that  I,  who  have  come  here  to  do 
penance  for  my  crimes,  should  out  here,  even  in  my  peni- 
tential hut,  commit  the  same  crime  again  ?  I  must  go 
further  from  temptation,  and  do  deeper  penance  yet.' 

So  he  left  the  shelter  of  his  hut,  and  all  his  clothes, 
and  went  into  the  wild  country  and  lived  with  the  wild 
beasts,  and  became  like  one  of  them.  After  many  years  he 
grew  quite  accustomed  to  go  on  all  fours,  and  his  body 
was  all  covered  with  hair  like  a  lion's,  and  he  lost  the 
use  of  speech. 

Then,  one  day  the  same  king  went  out  hunting. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  great  cry  of  the  dogs.  They  had 
found  an  animal  of  which  the  huntsmen  had  never  seen 


198  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

the  like  before.  So  strange  was  it,  that  they  said,  we 
must  not  kill  it,  but  must  bring  it  to  the  king.  With 
much  difficulty  they  whipped  the  dogs  off,  and  they 
brought  it  to  the  king,  so  like  a  four-footed  creature  had 
San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro  grown. 

Neither  could  the  king  make  out  what  kind  of  crea- 
ture it  was ;  so  he  told  the  huntsmen  to  put  a  chain  on 
it,  and  bring  it  to  the  palace. 

When  they  got  home  to  the  palace,  everyone  was 
astonished  at  the  appearance  of  the  creature  the  hunts- 
men had  with  them,  and  they  called  out  with  such  loud 
exclamations  that  the  queen,  who  was  ill  in  bed,  heard 
them,  and  she  asked  what  it  was  about.  When  they  told 
her,  she  was  seized  with  a  violent  desire  to  see  the  crea- 
ture. But  they  said  she  must  by  no  means  see  it,  being 
ill ;  but  the  more  they  opposed  her  wish,  the  more  vehe- 
ment she  was  to  see  it,  till,  at  last,  the  nurses  said  it 
would  do  more  harm  to  continue  refusing  her  than  to  let 
her  see  it. 

So  they  led  the  creature  by  the  chain  into  her  room, 
and  placed  him  by  her  bedside. 

When  the  queen  saw  him,  she  said,  i  This  is  no  four- 
footed  beast,  but  a  man,  like  one  of  you.'  And  she  spoke 
to  him,  and  asked  him  to  say  who  he  was  ;  but  he  had 
lost  the  use  of  speech,  and  could  not  answer  her. 

Then  the  baby  that  was  lying  on  the  pillow  by  her 
side,  just  born,  raised  its  head,  and  said  out  loud,  so  that 
all  could  hear,  in  a  voice  plain  and  clear — 

'  GrIOVANNI  BOCCA  D'OEO,  GOD  HATH  FORGIVEN  THEE 
THY  SINS  AND  INIQUITIES.' 

The  queen  was  yet  more  astonished  when  she  heard 
her  new-born  babe  speak  thus,  and  she  asked  St.  John 
what  it  could  mean.  When  she  saw  he  could  not  answer 
her,  she  ordered  that  they  should  give  him  pen  and  paper. 

Then,  though  they  gave  him  a  common  pen,  all  he 
wrote  appeared  in  letters  of  shining  gold,  and  he  wrote 


St.  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro.  199 

down  all  that  I  have  told  you.  Moreover,  he  bid  them 
send  to  the  well  where  he  had  thrown  the  body  of  the 
princess,  and  fetch  her  back. 

When  they  had  done  so,  they  found  her  whole  and 
sound,  and  only  a  little  cicatriced  wound  in  her  throat. 
Then  they  asked  her  in  astonishment  how  she  had  lived 
in  that  dark,  damp  well  all  these  years. 

But  she  answered,  *  Every  day  there  came  to  me  a 
beautiful  Eoman  matron  in  shining  apparel,  and  she 
brought  me  food  and  consoled  me,  and  after  she  had  been 
there  the  well  was  bright,  and  sweet,  and  perfumed.'  And 
they  knew  that  it  must  have  been  the  Madonna. 

As  soon  as  she  was  thus  restored  to  her  parents,  and 
had  declared  these  things,  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro  died 
in  peace,  for  God  had  forgiven  him. 


'  Ah !  I  knew  so  many  of  those  things  once,  but  now 
they  are  all  gone,  all  gone.'  This  was  said  by  a  fine  old 
man,  who  boasted  of  having  the  same  number  of  years  and 
the  same  name  as  the  Pope. 

'  I  dare  say  you  can  tell  me  something  about  San  Gio- 
vanni Bocca  d'oro,  however,'  I  said. 

1  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro  I  Of  course.  Everybody 
in  Rome  knows  about  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro.  Do  you 
want  to  know  about  him?  That's  not  a  story;  that's  a 
fact.' 

'  Yes,  all  you  know  about  him  I  want  to  hear.' 
1  It's  a  long  story — too  long  to  remember.' 
'  Never  mind,  tell  me  all  you  can  recall.' 
'  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro  lived  in  a  village — ' 
4  Not  in  Rome,  then ! '  interposed  I. 
4  Yes,  yes,  one  of  the  villages  about  Rome ;  I  don't  re- 
member now  which,  if  I  ever  knew,  but  about  Rome  of 
course.     One  day  he  saw  a  beautiful  peasant  girl,  and  fell 
in  love  with  her.     But  he  behaved  very  ill  to  her  and 


2OO  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

never  married  her,  and  afterwards  killed  her  and  threw 
her  body  into  a  well. 

'  Afterwards  a  great  sorrow  came  upon  him  for  what 
he  had  done,  and  he  was  so  ashamed  of  his  sin  that  he  said 
he  would  remain  no  more  to  pollute  other  Christians  with 
his  presence,  but  went  out  into  the  Campagna  and  lived 
like  a  four-footed  beast ;  and  made  a  vow  that  he  would 
remain  with  his  face  towards  the  earth *  until  such  time  as 
God  should  be  pleased  to  let  him  know,  by  the  mouth  of 
a  little  child,  that  His  wrath  was  appeased. 

« Many  years  passed,  and  San  Giovanni  continued  his 
penance  without  wearying,  always  on  all  fours. 

*  One  day,  the  nurse  of  some  emperor  or  king  was  out 
with  the  little  child  she  had  charge  of  when  a  storm  came 
on,  and  they  ran  and  lost  their  way.  Thus  running,  they 
came  upon  San  Giovanni  in  his  penance.  He  looked  so 
wild  and  strange  the  nurse  would  have  run  away  from 
him,  but  the  child  held  out  its  arms  towards  him  without 
being  at  all  frightened,  and,  although  so  young  that  it  had 
never  spoken,  cried  aloud,  "  Giovanni,  get  up,  God  hath 
forgiven  thee ! " 

4  At  this  voice  all  the  people  gathered  round,  and  they 
took  him  back  to  the  village  ;  and  he  went  straight  to  the 
well  and  blessed  it,  and  there  rose  out  of  it,  all  whole  and 
fresh,  the  maiden  whom  he  had  killed. 

'  Then  he  sent  for  pen  and  tablet,  for  he  had  lost  the 
use  of  speech,  and  wrote  down  all  that  had  befallen  him ; 
and  as  he  wrote  all  the  letters  became  gold.  That  is  why 
he  is  called  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro. 

'  And  when  he  had  written  all  these  things  he  died  in 
peace.' 

3 

In  another  version  he  was  living  an  ordinary  life  in  his 
£  villa,'  not  in  a  penitential  cell,  when  the  king's  daughter 
lost  her  way  at  the  hunt.  After  the  crime  he  was  seized 


St.  Giovanni  Bocca  d' or o.  201 

with  compunction,  and  went  out  into  the  Campagna,  living 
only  on  the  herbs  he  could  gather  with  his  mouth,  like  an 
animal,  and  vowing  that  he  would  never  again  raise  his 
head  to  Heaven  till  Grod  gave  him  some  token  that  He 
had  forgiven  him. 

After  eight  years  the  king  found  him  when  out  hunt- 
ing, and,  taking  him  for  some  kind  of  beast,  put  him  in 
the  stables.  The  little  prince  who  was  just  born  was  taken 
by  to  the  church  to  be  baptised  about  this  time ;  and,  as 
they  carried  him  back  past  the  stables,  he  said  aloud, 
'  Eise,  Griovanni,  for  Grod  hath  forgiven  thy  sins.'  Every 
one  was  very  much  astonished  to  hear  him  speak,  and 
they  sent  for  Giovanni  and  asked  him  to  explain  what  it 
meant. 

The  rest  as  in  the  other  versions. 

1  '  Bocca  a  terra.' 

[I  have  repeatedly  come  across  this  story,  but  without  any 
material  variation  from  one  or  other  of  the  versions  already  given. 
It  -would  be  curious  to  trace  how  St.  John  Chrysostom's  name  ever 
became  connected  with.  it.  Though,  famous  for  his  penitential 
life  as  much  as  for  his  eloquence,  and  though  the  four  years  he 
passed  in  the  cells  of  the  Antiochian  cenobites  were  austere  enough, 
yet  his  memory  is  stained  by  no  sort  of  crime.  So  far  from  it,  he 
was  most  carefully  brought  up  by  a  widowed  mother,  whose  ex- 
emplary virtues  are  said  to  have  occasioned  the  exclamation  from 
the  Saint's  master,  '  What  wonderful  women  have  these  Chris- 
tians !  ' — Butler's  '  Lives.'  There  is  something  like  its  termina- 
tion in  that  of  '  The  Fiddler  in  Hell.' — Ralston's  '  Russian  Folk 
Tales,'  pp.  299,  300.  The  years  of  voluntary  silence,  and  the 
finding  of  the  silent  person  by  a  king  out  hunting,  enter  into 
many  tales  otherwise  of  another  class,  as  in  '  Die  Zwolf  Bruder ' 
(the  Twelve  Brothers),  Grimm,  p.  37,  and  '  Die  Sechs  Schwiine ' 
(the  Six  Swans),  p.  191.] 


2O2  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 


DON  GIOVANNI. 

WE  had  another  Giovanni  who  had  done  worse  things 
even  than  these,  and  who  never  became  a  penitent  at  all. 
Don  Giovanni  he  was  called.  Everybody  in  Rome  knew 
him  by  the  name  of  Don  Giovanni. 

Among  the  other  bad  things  he  did,  he  killed  a  great 
man  who  was  called  the  Commendatore ;  and  though  he 
had  the  crime  of  murder  on  his  conscience  he  took  no 
account  of  it,  but  swaggered  about  with  an  air  of  bravado 
as  if  he  cared  for  no  one. 

One  day  when  he  was  walking  out  in  the  Campagna 
he  saw  a  great  white  skeleton  coming  to  meet  him.  It 
was  the  skeleton  of  the  commendatore  whom  he  had  killed. 

'  How  dy'e  do  ? '  said  Don  Giovanni,  with  effrontery. 
'  There's  an  Accademia1  to-night  at  iny  house,  I  shall  be 
very  happy  to  see  you  at  it ; '  and  he  took  off  his  hat  with 
mock  gravity. 

'  I  will  certainly  come,'  replied  the  commendatore  in 
a  sepulchral  voice  ;  but  Don  Giovanni  burst  out  laughing. 

In  the  midst  of  the  Accademia  some  one  knocked. 
'  All  the  guests  are  arrived,'  said  the  servant,  'yet  some 
one  knocks.' 

4  Never  mind,  open  ! '  replied  Don  Giovanni,  carelessly. 
'  Let  him  in  whoever  it  is.' 

The  servant  went  to  open,  and  came  running  back  tc 
say  he  could  not  let  the  new  guest  in  because  he  was  onlj 
the  miller,  who  had  come  in  his  white  coat  all  over  flour. 

All  soon  saw,  however,  that  the  guest  was  not  the  miller, 
though  he  looked  so  white.  For  it  was  the  white  skeleton 
of  the  commendatore;  and  it  followed  the  servant  into 
the  room.  Then  fear  seized  on  all  and  they  ran  away  to 
hide  themselves ;  some  behind  the  door,  some  behind 
the  curtains,  and  some  under  the  table. 

Don  Giovanni  stood  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  room 


The  Penance  of  San  Giitliano.  203 

with  his  usual  effrontery,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
skeleton. 

4  Eepent  thee  !  '2  said  the  White  Skeleton,  solemnly. 

'  A  cavalier  like  me  doesn't  repent  like  common  beg-- 
gars  ! '  replied  Don  Giovanni,  scornfully. 

'  Eepent ! '  again  repeated  the  White  Skeleton,  with 
more  awful  emphasis. 

4 1  have  something  much  more  amusing  to  do  ! '  replied 
Don  Giovanni,  with  a  laugh. 

4  Don  Giovanni ! '  cried  the  White  Skeleton,  the  third 
time  yet  more  solemnly.  '  Though  you  took  away  my  life 
yet  am  I  come  to  save  your  soul,  if  I  may,  and  therefore 
I  say  again,  Repent !  or  beware  of  what  is  to  follow.' 

'  Well  done,  old  fellow  !  very  generous  of  you  ! '  said 
Don  Giovanni,  with  a  mocking  laugh,  and  again  holding 
out  his  hand. 

They  were  his  last  words.  The  next  minute  he  gave 
an  awful  yell  which  might  have  been  heard  all  over  Rome. 
The  White  Skeleton  had  disappeared,  and  the  Devil  had 
come  in  his  place,  and  had  taken  Don  Giovanni  by  his 
extended  hand  and  dragged  him  off. 

1  '  Accademia '  used  here  for  '  Conversazione.' 

2  'Pentiti!' 

[Tullio  Dandolo,  'Monachismo  e  Leggende '  p.  314-5,  quotes 
a  similar  legend  from  Passavanti,  '  Specchio  della  vera  Penitenza.' 
The  story  of  Don  Giovanni's  misdeeds  brought  up  in  the 
narrator's  mind  those  of  Pepe  (Giuseppe)  Mastrilo,  famous  in 
the  annals  of  both  Spanish  and  Italian  bandits.  It  was,  however, 
only  a  story  of  violence  and  crime  without  point.] 


THE  PENANCE  OF  SAN  GIULIANO. 

'  CAN  you    tell   me   the    story   of   San  Giovanni    Bocca 
d'oro?' 

'  Of  course  I  know  about  San  Giovanni  Bocca  d'oro,  that 
is,  I  know  he  was  a  great  penitent,  but  I  couldn't  re- 


2O4  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

member  anything,  not  to  tell  you  about  him.  But  I 
know  about  another  great  penitent.  Do  you  know  about 
the  Penitence  of  San  Griuliano  ?  That  is  a  story  you'll 
like  if  you  don't  know  it  already ;  but  it's  not  a  favola, 
mind.' 

'  I  know  there  are  seven  or  eight  saints  at  least  of  the 
name  of  Julian,  but  I  don't  know  the  acts  of  them  all ;  so 
pray  tell  me  your  story.' 

'  Here  it  is  then. 

'  San  Griuliano  was  the  only  son  of  his  parents,  who 
lived  at  Albano.  In  his  youth  he  was  rather  wild,1 
and  gave  his  parents  some  anxiety ;  but  what  gave  them 
more  anxiety  still  on  his  account  was  that  an  astrologer 
had  predicted  that  when  he  grew  up  he  should  kill  both 
his  parents. 

' "  It  is  not  only  for  our  lives,"  said  the  parents,  "  that 
we  should  be  concerned — that  is  no  such  great  matter; 
but  we  must  put  him  out  of  the  way  of  committing  so 
great  a  crime." 

'  Therefore  they  gave  him  a  horse,  and  his  portion  of 
money,  and  told  him  to  ride  forth  and  make  himself  a 
home  in  another  place.  So  San  Griuliano  went  forth  ;  and 
thirty  years  passed,  and  his  parents  heard  no  more  of 
him.  Thirty  years  is  a  long  time ;  many  things  pass 
out  of  mind  in  thirty  years.  Thus  the  astrologer's  pre- 
diction passed  out  of  their  minds  ;  but  what  never  passes 
out  of  the  mind  of  a  mother  is  the  love  of  her  child,  and 
the  mother  of  San  Griuliano  yearned  to  see  him  after  thirty 
years  as  though  he  had  gone  away  but  yesterday. 

'  One  day  when  they  were  walking  in  the  woods  about 
Albano  they  saw  a  little  boy  come  and  climb  into  a  tree 
and  take  a  bird's  nest ;  and  presently,  after  the  little  boy 
was  gone  away  with  the  nest,  the  parent  birds  came  back 
and  fluttered  all  about,  and  uttered  piercing  cries  for  the 
loss  of  their  young. 

' "  See ! "  said  San  Griuliano's  mother,  taking  occasion 


Ttie  Penance  of  San  Giuliano.  205 

by  this  example,  "  how  these  unreasoning  creatures  care 
for  the  loss  of  their  young,  and  we  live  away  from  our 
only  son  and  are  content." 

' "  By  no  means  are  we  content,"  replied  the  father  ; 
"  let  us  therefore  rise  now  and  go  seek  him." 

'  So  they  put  on  pilgrims'  weeds,  and  wandered  forth 
to  seek  their  son.  On  and  on  they  went  till  they  came 
to  a  place,  a  city  called  Galizia ; 2  and  there,  as  they  walk 
along  weary,  they  meet  a  gentle  lady,  who  looks  upon 
them  mildly  and  compassionately,  and  says,  "  Whence  do 
you  come,  poor  pilgrims  ?  what  a  long  way  you  must  have 
travelled ! "  3 

'And  they,  cheered  by  her  mode  of  address  and 
sympathy,  make  answer,  "  We  have  wandered  over  moun- 
tains and  plains.  We  come  from  the  mountain  town  of 
Albano.  We  go  about  seeking  our  son  Giuliano." 4 

* "  Giuliano  ! "  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  is  the  name  of 
my  husband.  Just  now  he  is  out  hunting,  but  come  in 
with  me  and  receive  my  hospitality  for  love  of  his  name." 
She  took  them  home  and  washed  their  feet,  and  refreshed 
them,  and  set  food  before  them,  and  ultimately  gave  them 
her  own  bed  to  sleep  in. 

'But  the  Devil  came  to  Giuliano  out  hunting,  and 
tempted  him  with  jealous  thoughts  about  his  wife,  and 
tormented  him  with  all  manner  of  calumnious  insinua- 
tions, so  that  his  mind  was  filled  with  fury.  Coming 
home  hunting-knife  in  hand,  he  rushed  into  the  bedroom, 
and  seeing  two  forms  in  bed,  without  waiting  to  know 
who  they  were,  he  plunged  his  knife  into  them,  and  killed 
them. 

'Thus,  without  knowing  it,  he  had  killed  both  his 
father  and  his  mother. 

'  Coming  out  of  the  room  he  met  his  wife,  who  came 
to  seek  him  to  welcome  him. 

« "What,  you  here ! "  he  cried.  "  Who  then  are  those 
in  the  bed,  whom  I  have  killed  ?  " 


206  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

1 "  Killed ! "  replied  the  wife,  "  they  were  a  pilgrim 
couple  to  whom  I  gave  hospitality  for  love  of  you,  because 
they  wandered  seeking  a  son  named  Giuliano."  Then 
G-iuliano  knew  what  he  had  done,  and  was  seized  with 
penitence  for  his  hasty  yielding  to  suspicion  and  anger. 
So  stricken  with  sorrow  was  he,  he  was  as  one  dead,  nor 
could  anyone  move  him  to  speak.  Then  his  wife  came  to 
him  and  said,  "  We  will  do  penance  together ;  we  will 
lay  aside  ease  and  riches,  and  will  devote  ourselves  to 
the  poor  and  needy." 

*  And  he  embraced  her  and  said,  "  It  is  well  spoken.'' 

'Near  where  they  lived  was  a  rapid  river,  and  no 
bridge,  and  many  were  drowned  in  attempting  to  cross  it, 
and  many  had  a  weary  way  to  walk  to  find  a  bridge.  Said 
Giuliano,  "  We  will  build  a  bridge  over  the  river."  And 
many  pilgrims  came  to  Galizia  who  had  not  where  to 
rest.  Said  Giuliano,  "  We  will  build  a  hospice  for  poor 
pilgrims,  where  they  may  be  received  and  be  tended 
according  to  their  needs,  till  God  forgives  me." 

'  So  they  set  forth,  Giuliano  and  his  wife,  to  go  to 
Eome  to  find  workmen.5  But  as  they  went,  a  troop  met 
them,  and  came  round  them,  and  said  to  them,  "  Where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

' "  We  go  to  Eome,"  answered  Giuliano,  "  to  find  work- 
men to  build  a  bridge." 

1  "  We  are  your  men,  we  are  your  men  ;  for  we  have 
built  many  bridges  ere  now."6 

'  Then  Giuliano  took  them  back  with  him,  and  all  in 
two  days  they  built  the  bridge. 

'  "  How  can  this  be  ?  "  said  Giuliano's  wife  ;  "  here  is 
something  that  is  not  right,"  for  she  was  so  holy  that  she 
discerned  the  Evil  One  was  in  it. 

'  "  Be  sure,  Giuliano,"  she  said,  "  there  is  some  snare 
here.  Take,  therefore,  a  cheese,  hard  and  round,  and 
roll  it  along  the  bridge,7  and  send  our  dog  after  it ;  if 
they  get  across,  well  and  good." 


7 he  Penance  of  San  Giuliano.  207 

'  Giuliano,  always  prone  to  accept  his  wife's  prudent 
counsel,  did  as  she  bid  him,  and  rolled  the  cheese  along 
the  bridge,  and  sent  the  dog  after  it ;  and,  see !  no  sooner 
were  they  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge  than  the  bridge 
sank  in ;  and  they  knew  that  the  Devil  had  built  it,  and 
that  it  was  no  bridge  for  Christians  to  go  over. 

'  Then  said  Giuliano,  "  God  has  not  forgiven  me  yet. 
Now,  let  us  build  the  hospice." 

'  They  set  out,  therefore,  to  go  to  Kome  to  find  work- 
men to  build  the  hospice  ;  and  when  the  troop  of  demons 
came  round  them,  saying,  "  We  are  your  workmen,  we  are 
your  workmen  !  "  they  paid  them  no  heed,  but  went  on  to 
Rome,  and  fetched  workmen  thence,  and  the  hospice 
was  built ;  and  all  the  pilgrims  who  came  they  received, 
and  gave  them  hospitality,  and  the  whole  house  was  full 
of  pilgrims. 

6  Then,  when  the  house  was  full,  quite  full  of  pilgrims, 
there  came  an  old  man,  and  begged  admission.  "  Good 
man,"  said  Giuliano's  wife,  "  it  grieves  my  heart  to  say  so, 
but  there  is  not  a  bed,  nor  so  much  as  an  empty  corner 
left ;  "  and  the  old  man  said  : 

' "  If  ye  cannot  receive  me,  it  is  because  ye  have  done 
so  much  charity  to  me  already  ;  therefore  take  this  staff : " 
so  he  gave  them  his  pilgrim's  staff,  and  went  his  way. 

'  But  it  was  Jesus  Christ  who  came  in  the  semblance  of 
that  old  man  ;  and  when  G-iuliano  took  the  staff,  behold 
three  flowers  blossomed  on  it,  and  he  said  : 

4  "  See  !  God  has  forgiven  me  !  "  ' 

1  '  Discolo,"  '  wild,'  '  fast.' 

*  The  shrine  of  S.  lago  di  Compostella  being  traditionally  known  to 
the  Roman  poor  as  '  S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia,'  Galizia  was  not  very  unnatu- 
rally supposed  by  the  narrator  to  be  the  name  of  a  town. 

*  '  Dovene  siete,  poveri  pellegrini, 

Quanti  son'  lunghi  i  vostri  cammini  ? ' 

*  '  Avemo  camminati  monti  e  piani, 

E  siamo  di  Castello  mont'  Albano, 
Andiamo  cercando  un  figlio  Giuliano.' 


208  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

A  walled  village,  -whether  it  had  an  actual  castle  or  not,  had  the  name 
of  '  Castello  ; '  and  «  Castello '  is  the  common  name  to  the  present  day  in 
Home  for  the  villages  in  the  neighbourhood. 

*  'Mastri.' 

8  '  Noi  siamo  i  mastri !  noi  siamo  i  mastri ! 

Che  tanti  ponti  abbiamo  fatti.' 

7  '  Arruzzicatelo '  was  the  word  used.  Kuzzica  is  a  game  played  by 
rolling  circles  of  wood  of  a  certain  thickness  along  a  smooth  alley.  She 
tells  him  to  roll  the  cheese  in  this  way  as  an  inducement  to  the  dog  to  go 
over  to  try  the  strength  of  the  bridge. 

[Now  I  see  this  story  in  type  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  not 
strictly  traditional,  like  the  rest ;  but  that  the  narrator  had 
acquired  it  from  one  of  the  rimed  legends  mentioned  at  p.  vii..] 


THE  PILGRIMS. 

THERE  was  a  husband  and  wife,  who  had  been  married 
two  or  three  years,  and  had  no  children.  At  last,  they 
made  a  vow  to  S.  OHacomo  di  Gralizia  that  if  they  only  had 
two  children,  one  boy  and  one  girl,  even  if  no  more  than 
that,  they  would  be  so  grateful  that  they  would  go  a  pil- 
grimage to  his  shrine,  all  the  way  to  Gralizia. 

In  due  time  two  children  were  born  to  them,  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  who  were  twins  ;  and  they  were  full  of  glad- 
ness and  rejoicing,  and  devoted  themselves  to  the  care  of 
their  children,  but  they  forgot  all  about  their  vow.  "When 
many  years  were  passed,  and  the  children  were,  it  maybe, 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old,  they  dreamed  a  dream, 
both  husband  and  wife  in  one  night,  that  St.  James 
appeared,  and  said : 

4  You  made  a  vow  to  visit  my  shrine  if  you  had  two 
children.  Two  children  have  been  born  to  you,  and  you 
have  not  kept  your  vow ;  most  certainly  evil  will  over- 
take you  for  your  broken  word.  Behold,  time  is  given 
you ;  but  if  now  you  fulfil  not  your  vow,  both  your 
children  will  die.' 


The  Pilgrims.  209 

In  the  morning  the  wife  told  the  dream  to  the  hus- 
band, and  the  husband  told  the  dream  to  the  wife,  and 
they  said  to  each  other,  '  This  is  no  common  dream ;  we 
must  look  to  it.'  So  they  bought  pilgrims'  dresses,  and 
went  to  'Ofalizia,'  the  husband,  and  wife,  and  the  son;  but 
concerning  the  daughter  they  said,  « The  maiden  is  of  too 
tender  years  for  this  journey,  let  her  stay  with  her  nurse  ; ' 
and  they  left  her  in  the  charge  of  the  nurse  and  the 
parish  priest.  But  that  priest  was  a  bad  man — for  it 
will  happen  that  a  priest  may  be  bad  sometimes ;  and,  in- 
stead of  leading  her  right,  he  wanted  her  to  do  many  bad 
things,  and  when  she  would  not  listen  to  him,  he  wrote 
false  letters  to  her  parents  about  her,  and  gave  a  report 
of  her  conduct  to  shock  her  parents.  When  the  brother 
saw  these  letters  of  the  priest  concerning  his  sister,  he 
was  indignant  with  her,  and,  without  waiting  for  his 
parents'  advice,  went  back  home  quickly,  and  killed  her 
with  his  dagger,  and  threw  her  body  into  a  ditch.  But 
he  went  back  to  the  shrine  of  St.  James  to  live  in  penance. 

Not  long  had  her  body  lain  in  the  ditch  when  a  king's 
son  came  by  hunting,  and  the  dogs  scented  the  blood  of  a 
Christian  lying  in  the  ditch,  and  bayed  over  it  till  the 
huntsmen  came  and  took  out  the  body ;  when  they 
saw  it  was  the  body  of  a  fair  maiden,  yet  warm,  they 
showed  it  to  the  prince,  and  the  prince  when  he  saw  the 
maiden,  loved  her,  and  took  her  to  a  convent  to  be  healed 
of  her  wound,  and  afterwards  married  her  ;  and  when  his 
father  died,  he  was  king  and  she  became  a  queen. 

But  her  father  and  mother,  hearing  only  that  her 
brother  had  killed  her  and  thrown  her  body  in  the  ditch, 
and  supposing  she  was  dead,  said  one  to  the  other,  '  Why 
should  we  go  back  home,  seeing  that  our  daughter  is 
dead  ?  What  have  we  to  go  home  for  ?  There  is  nothing 
but  sorrow  for  us  there.'  So  they  remained  at  the  shrine 
of  St.  James,  and  built  a  hospice  for  poor  pilgrims,  and 
tended  them. 


2io  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj . 

Meantime  the  daughter,  who  had  become  a  queen,  she 
also  had  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  and  her  husband 
rejoiced  in  them  and  in  her.  But  troubled  times  came, 
and  her  husband  had  to  go  forth  to  battle,  and  while  she 
was  left  without  him  in  the  palace,  the  viceroy  came  to 
her  and  wanted  her  to  do  wrong,  and  when  she  would  not 
listen  to  him,  he  took  her  two  children  and  killed  them 
before  her  eyes.  '  What  do  I  here,'  said  she,  '  seeing  my 
two  children  are  dead  ? '  And  she  took  the  bodies  of  her 
children  and  went  forth.  When  she  had  wandered  long 
by  solitary  places,  she  came  one  day  to  a  mountain,  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  sat  a  dwarf,1  and  the  dwarf 
had  compassion  when  he  saw  how  she  was  worn  with  cry- 
ing, and  he  said  to  her,  *  Go  up  the  mountain  and  be  con- 
soled.' Thus  she  went  up  the  mountain  till  she  saw  a 
majestic  woman,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms ;  and  this  was 
the  Madonna,  you  must  know.2 

When  she  saw  a  woman  like  herself,  with  a  child  too, 
for  all  that  she  looked  so  bright  and  majestic,  she  was 
consoled ;  and  she  poured  all  her  story  into  her  ear. 
'  And  I  would  go  to  S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia  to  ask  that 
my  husband's  love  may  be  restored  to  me,  for  I  know  the 
viceroy  will  calumniate  me  to  him ;  but  how  can  I  leave 
these  children?'  Then  the  lady  said,  'Leave  your  children 
with  me,  and  they  shall  be  with  my  child,  and  go  you  to 
Galizia  as  you  have  said,  and  be  consoled.'  So  she  put 
on  pilgrim's  weeds,  and  went  to  Galizia. 

Meantime  the  king  came  back  from  battle,  and  the 
viceroy  told  him  evil  about  the  queen ;  and  his  mother, 
who  also  believed  the  viceroy,  said,  '  Did  I  not  tell  you  a 
woman  picked  up  is  never  good  for  anything  ?  ' 3  But  the 
king  was  grieved,  for  he  had  loved  the  queen  dearly,  and 
he  took  a  pilgrim's  dress  and  went  to  Galizia,  to  the 
shrine  of  S.  Giacomo,  to  pray  that  she  might  be  forgiven. 
Then  the  viceroy,  he  too  was  seized  with  compunction, 
and,  unknown  to  the  king,  he  too  became  a  pilgrim,  and 
went  to  do  penance  at  the  same  shrine. 


The  Pilgrims*  2 1 1 

Thus  it  happened  that  they  all  met  together,  without 
knowing  each  other,  in  the  hospice  that  that  husband 
and  wife  had  built  at  Galizia ;  and  when  they  had 
paid  their  devotions  at  the  shrine,  and  all  sat  together  in 
the  hospice  in  the  evening,  all  told  some  tale  of  what  he 
had  seen  and  what  he  had  heard.  But  there  sat  one  who 
told  nothing.  Then  said  the  king  to  this  one,  '  And  youy 
good  man,  why  do  you  tell  no  story  ? '  for  he  knew  not 
that  it  was  the  queen,  nor  that  it  was  even  a  woman. 

Thus  appealed  to,  however,  she  rose  and  told  a  tale  of 
how  there  had  been  a  husband  and  wife  who  had  made  a  vow 
that  if  they  had  children,  they  would  go  a  pilgrimage  to 
S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia ;  '  and,'  said  she, '  they  were  just  two 
people  such  as  you  might  be,'  and  she  pointed  to  the  two 
who  were  founders  of  the  hospice.  And  that  when  they 
were  absent,  and  left  their  daughter  behind,,  the  parish 
priest  calumniated  her,  so  that  her  brother  came  back  and 
stabbed  her,  and  threw  her  body  in  a  ditch.  '  And  he  was 
just  such  a  young  man,  strong  and  ardent,  as  you  may 
have  been,'  and  she  pointed  to  the  son  of  the  founders. 
*  But  that  maiden  was  not  dead,'  she  went  on,  '  and  a  king 
found  her,  and  married  her,  and  she  had  two  children,  and 
lived  happily  with  him  till  he  went  to  the  wars,  then  the 
viceroy  calumniated  her  till  she  ran  away  out  of  the 
palace  ;  and  the  viceroy  was  just  such  a  one,  strong  and 
dark,  as  you  may  be,'  and  she  pointed  to  the  viceroy,  who 
sat  trembling  in  a  corner ;  '  and  when  the  king  came 
back,  he  told  him  evil  of  her ;  but  that  king  was  noble 
and  pious  as  you  may  be,'  and  she  pointed  to  the  king, 
'and  in  his  heart  he  believed  no  evil  of  his  wife,  but 
went  to  S.  Giacomo  di  Galizia  to  pray  that  the  truth 
might  be  made  plain.' 

As  she  spoke,  one  after  another  they  all  arose,  and 

said,  '  How  comes  this  peasant  to  know  all  the  story  of  my 

life ;  and  who  has  sent  him  to  declare  it  here ! '  and  they 

were  all  strangely  moved,  and  called  upon  the  peasant  to 

p  2 


212  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

tell  them  who  had  shown  him  these  things.  But  the  supposed 
peasant  answered,  '  My  old  grandfather,  as  we  sat  on  the 
hearth  together.'*  'That  cannot  be,'  said  they,  'for  to  every 
one  of  us  you  have  told  his  own  life;  and  now  you  must  tell 
us  more,  for  we  will  not  rest  till  we  have  righted  her  who 
has  thus  suffered.'  When  she  found  them  so  earnest  and 
so  determined  to  do  right,  she  said  further,  '  That  queen 
am  I ! '  and  she  took  off  her  hood,  and  they  knew  her,  and  all 
fell  round  and  embraced  her.  Then  said  the  king,  '  And 
on  this  viceroy,  on  whose  account  you  have  suffered  so 
sadly,  what  vengeance  will  you  have  on  him  ? '  But  she 
said,  '  I  will  have  no  vengeance ;  but  now  that  he  has 
come  to  the  shrine  of  Gralizia,  Grod  will  forgive  him  ;  and 
may  he  find  peace  I ' 

Thus  all  were  restored  and  united  ;  and  when  she  had 
embraced  her  parents  and  her  brother,  and  spent  some 
days  with  them,  she  went  home  with  her  husband  and 
reigned  in  his  kingdom. 

[The  story  seemed  to  be  ended,  and  I  hoped  it  was,  for  the 
way  in  which  the  children  were  left  seemed  a  poetic  way  of 
describing  their  death ;  but  •  to  make  sure,  I  said,  '  And  the 
children,  they  remained  with  the  Madonna  ?  ' 

'  No,  no  !  I  forgot.  It's  well  you  reminded  me.  No ;  by 
their  way  home  they  went  back  to  the  mountain,  and  they 
found  their  children  well  cared  for  by  that  "  Majestic  Lady,"  and 
playing  with  her  Bambino ;  she  gave  the  children  back,  and 
blessed  them,  and  then  went  up  to  heaven ;  and  they  built  a 
chapel  in  the  place  where  she  had  been.'] 

1  '  Uomicino,'  a  little  man.    As  the  narrator  had  come  to  the  borders  of 
Wonderland,  this  must,  I  think,  be  taken  to  be.  one  of  those  dwarfs— little 
men  of  the  mountains, '  Bergmanlein,'  who  have  so  large  a  place  in  German, 
especially  in  Tirolean  mythology,  but  are  so  rarely  to  be  met  in  that  of 
Home. 

2  '  Una  donna  maestosa  con  un  bambino  in  braccia ;  e  questa  era  la 
Madonna,  capisce.'     This  use  of  the  verb  capireto  express  'you  see,'  &c.,  is 
a  favourite  Eomanism ;  in  Tuscany  they  use  the  verb  intenderc. 

1  '  Donna  trovata  non  fa  mai  buona.' 

4  '  II  nonno  accanto  al  fuoco.'     Giving  to  understand  that  it  was  an  old 
traditionary  tale. 


Santa  Verdana.  213 


SANTA  VERDANA. 

THERE  was  a  man  with  a  general  shop  who  had  an  ex- 
cellent girl  for  a  servant,  and  she  was  so  honest  as  well 
as  diligent  that  he  left  her  to  attend  to  the  shop  besides 
doing  the  work.  All  he  gave  her  to  do  she  did  well,  and 
his  business  flourished  without  his  having  any  trouble 
about  it. 

But  some  envious  people  came  to  him  and  said  that 
the  girl  had  given  away  all  his  substance,  and  there  was 
nothing  left ;  so  he  watched,  and  he  saw  it  was  indeed  so. 
To  every  poor  person  who  came  she  gave  whatever  they 
asked  for  the  love  of  Grod,  and  all  the  stores  and  presses 
were  empty.  Yet,  as  there  seemed  no  lack  of  any- 
thing either,  and  when  customers  came  she  always  con- 
tinued to  supply  them,  he  hesitated  to  interfere. 

So  it  might  have  gone  on,  only  people  went  on  whis- 
pering doubts.  And  one  said  one  day,  '  Suppose  she  should 
die,  where  would  you  be  then  ?  '  That  is  true,  he  thought 
to  himself,  and  upon  that  he  went  and  asked  her  where  all 
the  things  were  gone.  She  never  made  any  reply,  but  knelt 
down  and  prayed,  and  as  she  prayed  all  the  presses  and 
stores  became  full  again  with  all  kinds  of  merchandise  as 
at  the  first.  But  she  went  away  from  him  after  that,  and 
built  herself  a  cell,  walled  up  all  round,  next  to  the 
church  of  St.  Anthony,  where  she  lived  in  continual 
prayer,  and  she  took  a  brick  out  of  the  wall  to  make  a 
hole  through  which  she  heard  mass.  At  last  one  day  came 
when  they  saw  her  no  more  at  the  hole  hearing  mass,  and 
they  opened  her  cell  and  found  her  lying  on  the  floor  with 
her  hands  crossed  on  her  breast,  and  the  cell  was  filled 
with  a  beautiful  perfume,  for  she  had  been  sanctified 
there,  and  her  soul  had  gone  thence  to  God. 


2 1 4  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

SAN  SIDORO. 

[THIS  seems  very  like  another  version  of  the  foregoing.] 

St.  Isidor  was  the  steward  of  a  rich  man,  and  as  he  was 
filled  with  holy  piety  and  compassion,  he  could  never 
turn  away  from  any  that  begged  of  him,  but  gave  to  all 
liberally ;  to  one  Indian  com  meal,  to  another  beans,  to 
another  lentils. 

At  last  men  with  envious  tongues  came  to  his  master 
and  said  :  '  This  steward  of  yours  of  whom  you  think  so 
much  is  wasting  all  your  substance,  and  he  has  given  away 
so  much  to  the  poor  that  there  can  be  nothing  left  in  any 
of  your  barns  and  storehouses  ;  you  had  better  look  to  it.' 
The  master,  after  hearing  this,  came  down  to  St.  Isidor  very 
angry,  and  bade  him  bring  the  keys  and  open  all  the  barns 
and  storehouses.  St.  Isidor  did  as  he  was  bid  without  an 
angry  word,  and  behold  they  were  all  so  full  of  grain  and 
beans,  and  every  species  of  good  gift  of  God,  that  you  could 
not  go  into  them,  they  were  full  to  the  very  doors.  After 
that  the  master  let  him  give  away  as  much  as  he  would. 
[I  have  heard  the  same  at  Siena  told  of  San  Gherardo, 
or  Gheraldo  as  the  people  call  him,  under  the  character  of 
a  Franciscan  laybrother.  He  seemed  to  give  away  all  the 
provisions  people  gave  him  in  alms  for  the  convent,  but 
when  the  Superior,  warned  by  envious  tongues,  chid  him, 
he  showed  that  there  remained  over  more  than  sufficient 
for  the  needs  of  the  community.] 


THE  FISHPOND   OF  ST.  FRANCIS.1 

ST.  FKANCIS  had  a  little  fishpond,  where  he  kept  some 
gold  and  silver  fish  as  a  pastime. 

Some  bad  people  wanted  to  vex  him,  and  they  went 
and  caught  these  poor  little  fish  and  fried  them,  and  sent 
them  up  to  him  for  dinner. 


St.  Anthony.  215 

But  St.  Francis  when  he  saw  them  knew  that  they  were 
his  gold  fish,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  them, 
and  blessed  them,  and  soon  they  became  alive  again,  and  he 
took  them  and  put  them  back  into  the  fishpond,  and  no 
one  durst  touch  them  again  after  that. 

1  La  Pescheria  di  San  Francesco.'    Pescheria,  see  p.  45.    Many  Italian 
convents  are  provided  with  such. 


ST.  ANTHONY.1 

ST.  ANTHONY'S  father  was  accused  of  murder,  and  as  facts 
seemed  against  him,  he  was  condemned  to  be  executed. 

St.  Anthony  was  preaching  in  the  pulpit  as  his  father 
was  taken  to  the  scaffold.  '  Allow  me  to  stop  for  a  minute 
to  take  breath,'  he  said,  and  he  made  a  minute's  pause  in 
the  midst  of  his  discourse,  and  then  went  on  again. 

But  in  that  minute's  pause,  though  no  one  in  church 
had  lost  sight  of  him,  he  had  gone  on  to  the  scaffold. 

'  What  are  you  doing  to  that  man  ? '  he  asked. 

'  He  has  committed  a  murder,  and  is  going  to  be 
executed.' 

'  He  has  murdered  no  one.  Bring  hither  the  dead 
man.' 

No  one  knew  who  it  was  that  spoke,  but  they  felt 
impelled  to  obey  him  nevertheless. 

When  the  dead  man's  body  was  brought,  St.  Anthony 
said  to  him  :— 

'  Is  this  the  man  who  killed  you  ?  say  ! ' 

The  dead  man  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  the 
accused. 

'  Oh,  no  ;  that's  not  the  man  at  all ! '  he  said. 

'  And  you,  where  are  you  ? '  continued  St.  Anthony. 

'  I  should  be  in  Paradise,  but  that  there  is  a  ground  of 
excommunication  on  me,  therefore  am  I  in  Purgatory,'  an- 
swered the  dead  man.  Then  St.  Anthony  put  his  ear  down, 


2 1 6  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

and  bid  him  tell  him  the  matter  of  the  excommunica- 
tion ;  and,  when  he  had  confessed  it,  he  released  him  from 
the  bond,  and  he  went  straight  to  Paradise.  The  father  of 
St.  Anthony,  too,  was  pronounced  innocent,  and  set  free. 

And  all  the  while  no  one  had  missed  St.  Anthony  from 
the  pulpit ! 


SANT  ANTONIO  E  SORA*    CASTITRE. 

I  TOO  know  a  story  about  St.  Anthony. 

St.  Anthony  was  a  fair  youth,  as  you  will  always  see  in 
his  portraits.  As  he  went  about  preaching  there  was  a 
young  woman  who  began  to  admire  him  very  much,  and 
her  name  was  Sora  Castitre.  Whenever  she  could  find 
out  in  which  direction  he  was  going  she  would  put  herself 
in  his  way  and  try  to  speak  to  him.  St.  Anthony  at  first 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  took  no  notice  of 
her  ;  then  he  tried  to  make  her  desist  by  rebuking  her, 
but  she  ceased  not  to  follow  him. 

Then  he  thought  to  himself,  with  all  a  saint's  compunc- 
tion, '  It  is  not  she  who  is  to  blame,  and  who  is  worthy  of  re- 
buke, but  I,  who  have  been  the  occasion  of  sin  to  her.  (rod 
grant  that  sin  be  not  imputed  to  her  through  loving  me.' 

The  next  time  she  met  him,  it  was  in  a  deserted  part 
of  the  Campagna. 

'  Brother  Antonio,  come  along  with  me  down  this  path. 
No  one  will  see  us  there,'  said  Sora  Castitre. 

Much  to  her  surprise,  instead  of  pursuing  the  severe 
tone  he  had  always  adopted  towards  her,  St.  Anthony 
greeted  her  and  smiled  with  a  smile  which  filled  her  with 
a  joy  different  from  anything  she  had  known  before.  What 
was  more,  he  seemed  to  follow  her,  and  she  led  on. 

But  as  she  went  the  way  seemed  quite  changed.  She 
knew  well  the  retired  path  by  which  she  had  meant  to  lead 
him,  but  now  everything  around  looked  different ;  not  one 


St.  Anthony.  217 

landmark  was  the  same.  Yet  'how  could  it  be  different  ?' 
she  said  within  herself ;  and  she  led  on. 

What  was  her  astonishment,  when,  instead  of  finding 
it  terminate  in  a  rocky  gorge  as  she  had  found  before, 
there  rose  before  her  presently  an  austere  building  sur- 
rounded with  walls  and  gates  ! 

St.  Anthony  stepped  forward  as  they  reached  the  gate. 
A  nun  opened  to  them,  and  St.  Anthony  asked  for  the 
mother  abbess.  ' I  have  brought  you  a  maiden,'  he  said, 
'  whom  I  recommend  to  your  affectionate  and  tender  care.' 
The  mother  abbess  promised  to  make  her  her  special 
charge,  and  St.  Anthony  went  his  way,  first  calling  the 
maiden  aside  and  charging  her  with  this  one  petition  he 
would  have  her  make : 

'  I  have  sinned  ;  have  mercy  on  me.' 

Then  St.  Anthony  went  back  to  his  convent  and  called 
all  the  brethren  together,  and  asked  them  all  to  pray  very 
earnestly  all  through  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  tell 
him  what  manifestation  they  had  had. 

The  brethren  promised  to  comply ;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing they  all  told  him  they  had  seen  a  little  spark  of  light 
shining  in  the  darkness. 

'It  suffices  not,  my  brethren !'  said  St.  Anthony ;  'con- 
tinue your  charity  and  pray  on  instantly  this  night  also.' 

The  brethren  promised  compliance  ;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing they  all  told  him  they  had  seen  a  pale  streak  of  light 
stealing  away  towards  heaven. 

'  It  suffices  not,  my  brethren ! '  said  St.  Anthony ;  '  of 
your  charity  pray  on  yet  again  this  night  also.' 

The  brethren  promised  compliance ;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing they  told  him  they  had  all  seen  a  blaze  of  light,  and 
in  the  midst  of  it  a  bed  on  which  lay  a  most  beautiful 
maiden,  white2  as  a  lily,  carried  up  to  heaven,  borne  by  four 
shining  angels. 

'  It  is  well,  my  brethren  ! '  replied  St.  Anthony  ;  '  your 
prayers  have  rendered  a  soul  to  the  celestial  quires.' 


2 1 8  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

Afterwards  he  went  to  the  convent  where  he  had  left 
Sora  Castitre,  and  learnt  from  the  mother  abbess  that, 
spending  three  penitential  days  saying  only,  '  I  have 
sinned  ;  have  mercy  on  me,'  she  had  rendered  up  her  soul 
to  Grod  in  simplicity  and  fervour. 


THE  legend  of  St.  Anthony  preaching  to  the  fishes  is 
well  known  from  paintings,  and  I  do  not  reproduce  it  be- 
cause it  was  told  me  with  no  variation  from  the  usual 
form.  But  another  legend,  which  early  pictures  have 
rendered  equally  familiar,  I  received  with  an  anachronistic 
addition  which  is  worth  putting  down. 


ST.  ANTHONY  AND  THE  HOLY  CHILD.3 

ST.  ANTHONY  had  been  sent  a  long  way  -off  to  preach ;  * 
by  the  way  fatigue  overtook  him,  and  he  found  hospitality 
for  a  few  days  in  a  monastery  by  the  way.  Later  in  the 
evening  came  a  Protestant5  and  asked  hospitality,  and 
he  also  was  received,  because  you  know  there  are  many 
Protestants  who  are  very  good ;  and,  besides  that,  if  the 
man  needed  hospitality  the  monks  would  give  it,  whoever 
he  might  be. 

The  monks  were  all  in  their  cells  by  an  early  hour  in 
the  evening,  but  the  Protestant  walked  up  and  down  the 
corridors  smoking. 

Suddenly  through  the  cracks  and  the  keyhole  and  all 
round  the  lintel  of  the  door  he  saw  a  bright  light  issue 
where  anon  all  was  dark ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  cell  was 
on  fire.  '  One  of  the  good  monks  has  set  fire  to  his  bed- 
clothes!' he  said,  and  looked  through  the  keyhole.  What 
did  he  see  ?  on  the  open  book  from  which  a  father  who 
was  kneeling  before  it  had  been  taking  his  meditations 


St.  Anthony.  219 

stood  a  beautiful  Child  whom  it  filled  you  with  love  to 
look  at,  and  from  Whom  shone  a  light  too  bright  to  bear. 

Anxious  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  glorious  sight 
the  Protestant  knocked  at  the  door ;  St.  Anthony,  for  it 
was  he,  called  to  him  to  come  in ;  but  instantly  the  vision 
vanished. 

'  Who  was  that  Child  who  was  talking  to  you  ?  '  asked 
the  Protestant. 

4  The  Divine  Infant ! '  answered  St.  Anthony  with  the 
greatest  simplicity. 

The  next  night  the  Protestant,  curious  to  know  if  the 
Child  would  appear  again,  again  walked  up  and  down  the 
corridor  smoking,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  door  of  St.  An- 
thony's cell ;  nor  was  it  long  before  the  same  sight  met 
his  eye,  but  this  time  he  was  led  to  prolong  his  converse 
with  the  saint.  The  next  night  there  was  the  same  pro- 
digy, and  that  night  they  sat  up  all  night  talking. 

When  morning  came  he  told  the  father  abbot  he 
wished  to  make  his  adjuration  and  join  the  order,  and  he 
finally  took  the  habit  in  that  monastery. 


THEY  say  there  was  once  a  poor  man  who  had  paid  what 
he  owed  for  his  ground.  You  know  the  way  is,  that  when 
a  man  has  gathered  in  his  harvest  and  turned  a  little 
money  then  he  pays  off  what  he  owes.  This  man  paid 
for  his  ground  as  soon  as  he  had  made  something  by  his 
harvest,  but  the  seller  did  not  give  him  any  receipt. 
Soon  after  the  owner  died,  and  his  son  came  to  ask  for 
the  money  over  again.  '  But  I  paid  your  father,'  said  the 
poor  man.  '  Then  show  your  receipt,'  said  the  son.  '  But 
he  didn't  give  me  one,'  answered  the  poor  man.  '  Then 
you  must  pay  me,'  insisted  the  new  proprietor. 

«  What  shall  I  do  !  what  shall  I  do ! '  exclaimed  the 
poor  man  in  despair.      '  St.  Anthony,  help  me  I '     He  had 


2  20  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

hardly  said  the  words  when  he  saw  a  friar6  coming  towards 
him. 

'  What's  the  matter,  good  man  ?  '  said  the  friar,  '  that 
you  are  so  distressed  :  tell  me.'  And  the  poor  man  told 
him  all  the  story  of  his  distress. 

'  Shall  I  tell  you  how  to  get  the  receipt?'  asked  the  friar. 

'Indeed,  indeed!'7  exclaimed  the  poor  man,  'that 
would  be  the  making  of  me;  but  it's  more  than  you  can 
do — the  man  is  dead  ! ' 

'  Never  mind  that.  You  do  what  I  tell  you,'  said  the 
monk.  '  Go  straight  along  that  path  ; '  and  the  man  saw 
that  where  he  pointed  was  a  path  that  had  never  been 
there  before.  '  Follow  that  path,'  said  the  monk,  '  and 
you  will  come  to  a  casino  with  great  iron  gates  which  shut 
and  open  of  themselves  continually.  You  must  watch  the 
moment  when  they  are  open  and  go  boldly  in.  Inside  you 
will  see  a  big  room  and  a  man  sitting  at  a  table  writing 
ceaselessly  and  casting  accounts.  That  is  your  landlord-; 
ask  him  for  the  receipt  and  he  won't  dare  withhold  it  now. 
But  mind  one  thing.  Don't  touch  a  single  article  in  the 
room,  whatever  you  do.' 

The  poor  man  went  along  the  path,  and  found  all  as 
the  monk  had  told  him. 

'  How  did  you  get  here  ?  '  exclaimed  the  landlord,  as 
soon  as  he  recognised  him ;  and  the  poor  man  told  him 
how  he  had  been  sent  and  why  he  was  come.  The  landlord 
sat  at  his  desk  writing  with  the  greatest  expedition,  as  if 
some  one  was  whipping  him  on,  and  knitting  his  brows  over 
his  sums  as  if  they  were  more  than  his  brain  could  calculate; 
nevertheless,  he  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  wrote  the  re- 
ceipt, and  moreover  he  wrote  two  or  three  lines  more  on 
another  piece  of  paper,  which  he  bade  him  give  to  his  son. 

The  poor  man  promised  to  deliver  it,  and  turned  to 
go  ;  but  as  he  went  could  not  forbear  putting  his  hand 
over  the  polished  surface  of  a  table  he  had  to  pass,  un- 
mindful of  the  charge  the  monk  had  given  him  not  to 


St.  Anthony.  221 

touch  anything.  His  hand  was  no  sooner  in  contact  with 
the  table  than  the  whole  skin  was  burnt  off,  and  he  under- 
stood that  he  was  in  Hell.  With  all  expedition  he  watched 
the  turn  of  the  door  opening,  and  hastened  out. 

'What  have  you  got  about  your  hand?'  asked  St. 
Anthony  when  the  man  came  back,  for  the  friar  was  none 
other  than  St.  Anthony. 

'  I  touched  one  of  the  tables  in  that  house,'  he  an- 
swered, '  forgetting  what  you  told  me,  and  burnt  my  hand 
so  badly  I  had  to  dip  this  cloth  in  a  river  as  I  came  by 
and  tie  it  up.  But  I  have  the  receipt,  thanks  to  you.' 
So  St.  Anthony  touched  his  hand  and  healed  it,  and  he 
saw  him  no  more. 

Then  the  man  took  the  letter  to  the  old  lord's  son. 
'  Why,  this  is  my  father's  writing  ! '  he  exclaimed  ;  '  and 
my  father  is  dead.  How  did  you  come  by  it  ? '  And  he 
told  him.  And  the  letter  said :  '  Behold,  I  am  in  Hell ! 
But  you,  mend  your  ways  ;  give  money  to  the  poor ;  com- 
pensate this  man  for  the  trouble  he  has  had  ;  and  be  just 
to  all,  lest  you  also  come  hither.' 

Then  the  old  landlord's  son  gave  the  man  a  large  sum. 
of  money  to  compensate  him  for  his  anxieties,  and  sent  him 
away  consoled. 

1  '  Sora '  in  this  place  does  not  mean  '  sister ' ;  it  is  an  expression  in 
Koman  vernacular  for  which  we  have  no  equivalent,  and  is  applied  to 
respectable  persons  of  the  lower  class  who  do  not  aspire  to  be   called 
'  Signora,'  '  Mrs.,'  or  '  Miss,'  as  with  us.     '  Sor '  or  '  Ser'  is  the  masculine 
equivalent ;  we  had  it  in  use  at  p.  194. 

2  The  word  used  was  'Candida,'  and  not  'bianca,'  as  expressive  of 
purest  white. 

*  '  Sant'  Antonio  ed  il  Santo  Bambino.' 

4  I  believe  St.  Anthony  was   never  in  Kome ;  but  his  genial  winning 
character  made  him   so  popular  that  the  people  speak  of  him  as  one  of 
themselves. 

5  St.  Anthony's  date  is  1195-1231 ;  so  the  idea  of  making  his  observer 
a  Protestant,  and  a  smoker  to  boot,  is  very  quaint,  and  is  an  instance  of 
how  chronological  order  gets  confused  by  tradition. 

6  '  Fraticello ' ;  '  good  little  friar.'     An  affectionate  way  of  speakiug  of 
Franciscans  often  used. 

7  '  Magari ! '  a  very  strong  form  of  '  indeed.' 


!22  Legendary  Tales  and  Rsempj. 


ST.  MARGARET  OF  CORTONA. 

ST.  MARGAKET  wasn't  always  a  saint,  you  must  know : 
in  her  youth  she  was  very  much  the  reverse.  She  had  a 
very  cruel  stepmother,  who  worried  her  to  death,1  and 
gave  her  work  she  was  unequal  to  do. 

One  day  her  stepmother  had  sent  her  out  to  tie  up 
bundles  of  hay.  As  she  was  so  engaged  a  Count  came  by, 
and  he  stopped  to  look  at  her,  for  she  was  rarely  beau- 
tiful.2 

6  What  hard  work  for  such  pretty  little  hands,'  he 
began  by  saying  ;  and  after  many  tender  words  had  been 
exchanged  he  proposed  that  she  should  go  home  with 
him,  where  her  life  would  be  the  reverse  of  the  suffering 
existence  she  had  now  to  endure. 

Margaret  consented  at  once,  for  Tier  stepmother,  be- 
sides working  her  hard,  had  neglected  to  form  her  to 
proper  sentiments  of  virtue. 

The  count  took  her  to  his  villa  at  a  place  called  Monte 
Porciana,  a  good  way  from  Cortona.  Here  her  life  was 
indeed  a  contrast  to  what  it  had  been  at  home  at  Cortona. 
Instead  of  having  to  work,  she  had  plenty  of  servants  to 
wait  upon  her ;  her  dress  and  her  food  were  all  in  the 
greatest  luxury,  and  she  was  supplied  with  everything  she 
wished  for.  Sometimes  as  she  went  to  the  theatre,  decked 
out  in  her  gay  attire,  and  knowing  that  she  was  a  scandal 
to  all,  she  would  say  in  mirth  and  wantonness,  'Who  knows 
whether  one  day  I  may  not  be  stuck  up  there  on  high  in 
the  churches,  like  some  of  those  saints  ?  As  strange  things 
have  happened  ere  now!'  But  she  only  said  it  in  wanton- 
ness. So  she  went  on  enjoying  life,  and  when  their  son 
was  born  there  was  nothing  more  she  desired. 

In  the  midst  of  this  gay  existence,  word  was  brought 
her  one  evening  that  the  Count,  who  had  gone  out  that 
morning  full  of  health  and  spirits  to  the  hunt,  had  been 


St.  Margaret  of  Cortona.  223 

overtaken  and  assassinated,  and  as  all  had  been  afraid 
to  pursue  the  murderers,  they  knew  not  where  his  body 
was. 

Margaret  was  thrown  into  a  frenzy3  at  the  news  ;  her 
fine  clothing  and  her  rich  fare  gave  her  little  pleasure 
now.  All  amusement  and  frivolity  were  put  out  of  sight ; 
and  she  sat  on  her  sofa  and  stared  before  her,  for  she  had 
no  heart  to  turn  to  anything  that  could  distract  her 
thoughts  from  her  great  loss.  Then  one  day — it  might 
have  been  three  days  after — a  favourite  dog  belonging  to 
the  count  came  limping  and  whining  up  to  her.  Margaret 
rose  immediately  ;  she  knew  that  the  dog  would  take  her 
to  the  count's  body,  and  she  rose  up  and  motioned  to  him 
to  go  :  and  the  dog,  all  glad  to  return  to  his  master,  ran 
on  before.  All  the  household  were  too  much  afraid  of  the 
assassins  to  venture  in  their  way,  so  Margaret  went  forth 
alone.  It  was  a  long  rough  way ;  but  the  dog  ran  on,  and 
Margaret  kept  on  as  well  as  her  broken  strength  would 
admit.  At  last  they  came  to  a  brake  where  the  dog 
stopped,  and  now  whined  no  longer  but  howled  piteously. 
Margaret  knew  that  they  had  reached  the  object  of  their 
search,  and  it  was  indeed  here  the  assassins  had  hidden 
the  body.  Moving  away  with  her  own  hands  the  leaves 
and  branches  with  which  they  had  covered  it  over,  the 
fearful  sight  of  her  lover's  mangled  body  lay  before  her. 
The  condition  into  which  the  wounds  and  the  lapse  of 
time  had  brought  it  was  more  than  she  could  bear  to  look 
at,  and  she  swooned  away  on  the  spot. 

When  she  came  to  herself  all  the  course  of  her 
thoughts  was  changed.  She  saw  what  her  life  had  been  ; 
the  sense  of  the  scandal  she  had  given  was  more  to  her 
even  than  her  own  distracting  grief.  As  the  most  terrible 
penance  she  could  think  of,  she  resolved  to  go  back  to  her 
stepmother  and  endure  her  hard  treatment,  sharpened  by 
the  invectives  with  which  she  knew  it  would  now  be 
seasoned. 


224  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

Taking  with  her  her  son,  she  went  to  her,  therefore, 
and  with  the  greatest  submission  of  manner  entreated  to 
be  readmitted.  But  not  even  this  would  the  stepmother 
grant  her,  but  drove  her  away  from  the  door.  She 
then  turned  to  her  father,  but  he  was  bound  to  say  the 
same  as  his  wife.  She  now  saw  there  was  one  misery 
worse  than  harsh  treatment,  and  that  was  penury — starva- 
tion, not  only  for  herself,  but  her  child. 

Little  she  cared  what  became  of  her,  but  for  the  child 
something  must  be  done.  What  did  she  do  ?  She  went 
and  put  on  a  sackcloth  dress,4  tied  about  the  waist  with  a 
rope,  and  she  went  to  the  church  at  the  high  mass  time  ; 
and  when  mass  was  over  she  stood  on  the  altar  step,  and 
told  all  the  people  she  was  Margaret  of  Cortona,  who  had 
given  so  much  scandal,  and  now  was  come  to  show  her 
contrition  for  it. 

Her  sufferings  had  gone  up  before  God.  As  she  spoke 
her  confession  so  humbly  before  all  the  people,  the  count's 
mother  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  coming  up  to  her,  threw 
her  handkerchief  over  her  head5 — for  she  was  bareheaded 
— and  led  her  away  to  her  home. 

She  would  only  accept  her  hospitality  on  condition  of 
being  allowed  to  live  in  a  little  room  apart,  with  no  more 
furniture  than  a  nun's  cell.  Here  she  lived  twelve  years 
of  penance,  till  her  boy  was  old  enough  to  choose  his  state 
in  life.  He  elected  to  be  a  Dominican,  and  afterwards 
became  a  Preacher  of  the  Apostolic  Palace ;  and  she 
entered  a  Franciscan  convent,  where  she  spent  ten  more 
years  of  penance,  till  Grod  took  her  to  Himself. 

She  cut  off  all  her  long  hair  when  she  went  to  live  in 
her  cell  at  the  house  of  the  count's  mother,  that  she 
might  not  again  be  an  occasion  of  sin  to  anyone.  And 
after  that,  when  she  found  she  was  still  a  subject  of  human 
admiration,  she  cut  off  her  lips,  that  no  one  might  admire 
her  again.6 


St.  Theodora. 


225 


1  '  La  strapazzava,'  a  word  particularly  applied  to  overworking  a  horse. 

2  '  Di  una  rara  bellezza.' 
8  '  Era  disperata.' 

4  '  Un  sacco  crudo,'  a  loose  garment  made  of  harsh  sackcloth  that  had  not 
been  dressed. 

5  Handkerchiefs  are  used  so  habitually  for  tying  up  parcels  in  Kome, 
that  the  narrator  thought  it  worth  while  to  specify  that  this  one  was  a 
'  fazzaletto  di  naso.' 

6  The  life  is  thus  given  in  Butler : — '  Margaret  was  a  native  of  Alviano 
in  Tuscany.     The  harshness  of  a  stepmother  and  her  own  indulged  pro- 
pension  to  vice  cast  her  headlong  into  the  greatest  disorders.     The  sight  of 
the  carcase  of  a  man,  half-putrefied,  who  had  been  her  gallant,  struck  her 
with  so  great  a  fear  of  the  Divine  judgments,  and  with  so  deep  a  sense  of 
the  treachery  of  the  world,  that  she  in  a  moment  became  a  perfect  penitent. 
The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  throw  herself  at  her  father's  feet  bathed  in 
tears,  to  beg  his  pardon  for  her  contempt  of  his  authority  and  fatherly  admo- 
nitions.    She  spent  the  days  and  nights  in  tears ;  and  to  repair  the  scandal 
she  had  given  by  her  crimes,  she  went  to  the  parish  church  of  Alviano 
with  a  rope  about  her  neck,  and  there  asked  public  pardon  for  them.    After 
this  she  repaired  to  Cortona  and  made  her  most  penitent  confession  to  a 
father  of  the  Order  of  S.  Francis,  who  admired  the  great  sentiments  of 
compunction  with  which  she  was  filled,  and  prescribed  her  austerities  and 
practices  suitable  to  her  fervour.     Her  conversion  happened  in  the  year 
1274,  the  twenty-fifth  of  her  age.     .     .     .     This  model  of  true  penitents, 
after  twenty-three  years  spent  in  severe  penance,  twenty  of  them  in  the 
religious  habit,  being  worn  out  by  austerities  and  consumed  by  the  fire  of 
divine  love,  died  on  the  22nd  of  February  1297.' 


ST.    THEODORA.1 

WHEN  Santa  Teodora  was  young  she  was  married,  and 
lived  very  happily  with  her  husband,  for  they  were  both 
very  fond  of  each  other. 

But  there  was  a  count  who  saw  her  and  fell  in  love 
with  her,  and  tried  his  utmost  to  get  an  opportunity  of 
telling  her  his  affection,  but  she  was  so  prudent  that  he 
could  not  approach  her.  So  what  did  he  do  ?  he  went 
to  a  bad  old  woman l  and  told  her  that  he  would  give 
her  ever  so  much  money  if  she  would  get  him  the 
opportunity  of  meeting  her.  The  old  wretch  accepted 
Q 


226  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

the  commission  willingly,  and  put  all  her  bad  arts  in 
requisition  to  make  Theodora  forget  her  duty.  For  a 
long  time  Theodora  refused  to  listen  to  her  and  sent  her 
away,  but  she  went  on  finding  excuses  to  come  to  her, 
and  again  and  again  urged  her  persuasions  and  excited 
her  curiosity  so  that  finally  she  consented  that  he  might 
just  come  and  see  her,  and  the  witch  woman  assured  her 
that  was  all  he  asked.  But  what  he  wanted  was  the 
opportunity  of  speaking  his  own  story  into  her  ear,  and 
when  that  was  given  him  he  pushed  his  suit  so  success- 
fully that  it  wasn't  only  once  he  came,  but  many  times. 

Yet  it  was  not  a  very  long  time  before  a  day  came 
when  Theodora  saw  how  wrong  she  had  been,  and  then, 
seized  with  compunction,  she  determined  to  go  away  and 
hide  herself  where  she  would  never  be  heard  of  more. 
Before  her  husband  came  home  she  cut  off  all  her  hair, 
and  putting  on  a  coarse  dress  she  went  to  a  Capuchin 
monastery  and  asked  admission. 

4  What  is  your  name  ? '  asked  the  Superior. 
'  Theodore,'  she  replied. 

'  You  seem  too  young  for  our  severe  rule,'  he  con- 
tinued ;  '  you  seem  a  mere  boy ; '  but  she  expressed  such 
sincere  sentiments  of  contrition  as  showed  him  she  was 
worthy  to  embrace  their  life  of  penance. 

The  Devil  was  very  much  vexed  to  see  what  a  perfect 
penitent  she  made,  and  he  stirred  up  the  other. monks  to 
suspect  her  of  all  manner  of  things  ;  but  they  could  find 
no  fault  against  her,  nor  did  they  ever  suspect  that  she 
was  a  woman. 

One  day  when  she  was  sent  with  another  brother  to 
beg  for  the  convent  a  storm  overtook  them  in  a  wood, 
and  they  were  obliged  to  seek  the  shelter  of  a  cottage 
there  was  on  the  borders  of  the  wood  where  they  were 
belated.  '  There  is  room  in  the  stable  for  one  of  you,'  said 
the  peasant  who  lived  there;  '  but  that  other  one  who  looks 
so  young  and  so  delicate'  (he  meant  Theodora) '  must  sleep 


St.  Theodora.  227 

indoors,  and  the  only  place  is-  the  loft  where  my  daughter 
sleeps ;  but  it  can't  be  helped1..'  Theodora,  therefore,  slept 
in  the  loft  and  the  monk  in  the  stable,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing when  the  weather  was  fair  they  went  back  to  their 
convent.  Months  passed  away,  and  the  incident  was 
almost  forgotten,  when  one  day  the  peasant  came  to  the 
monastery  and  rang  the  bell  in  a  great  fury,  and  he  laid 
down  at  the  entrance  a  bundle  in  which  was  a  baby. 
1  That  young  monk  of  yours  is  the  father  of  this  child,* 
he  said,  '  and  you  ought  to  turn  him  out  of  the  convent.' 
Then  the  Superior  sent  for  '  Theodore.,'  and  repeated  what 
the  peasant  had  said. 

'  Surely  God  has  sent  me  this  new  penance  because- 
the  life  I  lead  here  is  not  severe  enough,'  she  said.  '  He 
has  sent  me  this  further  punishment  that  all  the  com- 
munity should  think  me  guilty.'  Therefore  she  would 
not  justify  herself,  but  accepted  the  accusation  and  took 
the  baby  and  went  away.  Her  only  way  of  living  now 
was  to  get  a  night's  lodging  how  she  could,  and  come  every 
day  to  the  convent  gate  with  the  child  and  live  on  the 
dole  that  was  distributed  there  to  the  poor..  What  a  life 
for  her  who  had  been  brought  up  delicately  in  her  own 
palace ! 

She  was  not  allowed  to  rest,  however,  even  so,  for 
people  took  offence  because  she  was  permitted  to  remain  so 
near  the  monastery,  and  th-e  monks  had  to  send  her  away. 
So  she  went  to  seek  the  shelter  of  a  wood,  and  to  labour 
to  find  the  means  of  living  for  herself  and  the  child  in 
the  roots  and  herbs  she  could  pick  up.  But  one  of  the 
monks  one  day  found  her  there,  and  saw  her  so  emaciated 
that  he  told  the  Superior,  and  he  let  her  come  back  to 
receive  the  dole. 

At  last  she  died,  and  when  they  came  to  bury  her  they 

found  she  had  in  one  hand  a  written  paper  so  tightly 

clasped  that  no  one  had  the  strength  to  unclose  it ;  and 

there  she  lay  on  her  bier  in  the  church  looking  so  sad  and 

Q  2 


2  2$  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

•worn,  yet  as  sweetly  fair  as  she  had  looked  in  life,  and 
with  the  written  paper  tightly  grasped  in  her  closed  hand. 

Now  when  her  husband  found  that  she  had  left  his 
palace  the  night  she  went  away  he  left  no  means  untried 
to  discover  where  she  was ;  and  when  he  had  made  in- 
quiries and  sent  everywhere,  and  could  learn  no  tidings 
whatever,  he  put  on  pilgrim's  weeds  and  went  out  to  seek 
for  her  everywhere  himself. 

It  so  happened  that  he  came  into  the  city  where  she 
died  just  as  she  was  thus  laid  on  her  bier  in  the  church. 
In  spite  of  her  male  attire  he  knew  her ;  in  the  midst  of 
his  grief  he  noticed  the  written  paper  she  held.  To  his 
touch  her  hand  opened  instantly,  and  in  the  scroll  was  found 
recorded  all  she  had  done  and  all  she  had  suffered. 

1  '  Vecchiaccia ' ;  the  addition  accia  implies  that  she  was  bad:  probably 
a  witch  was  intended., 


NUN  BEATRICE.1 

NUN  BEATKICE  had  not  altogether  the  true  spirit  of  a  reli- 
gious: she  was  somewhat  given  to  vanity  ;2  though  but  for 
this  she  was  a  good  nun,  and  full  of  excellent  dispositions. 
She  held  the  office  of  portress  ; 3  and,  as  she  determined 
to  go  away  out  of  her  convent  and  return  into  the  world, 
this  seemed  to  afford  her  a  favourable  opportunity  for 
carrying  out  her  design.  Accordingly,  one  day  when  the 
house  was  very  quiet,  and  there  seemed  no  danger  of 
being  observed,  having  previously  contrived  to  secrete  some 
secular  clothes  such  as  passed  through  her  hands  to  keep 
in  store  for  giving  to  the  poor,  she  let  herself  out  and 
went  away. 

In  the  parlour  was  a  kneeling-desk  with  a  picture  of 
Our  Lady  hanging  over  it,  where  she  had  been  wont  to 
kneel  and  hold  converse  with  Our  Lady  in  prayer  when- 
ever she  had  a  moment  to  spare.  On  this  desk  she  laid 


Nun  Beatrice.  229 

the  keys  before  she  went,  thinking  it  was  a  safe  place  for 
the  Superior  to  find  them ;  and  she  commended  them  to 
the  care  of  Our  Lady,  whose  picture  hung  above,  and  said, 
'  Keep  thou  the  keys,  and  let  no  harm  come  to  this  good 
house  and  my  dear  sisters.' 

As  she  said  the  words  Our  Lady  looked  at  her  with 
a  glance  of  reproach,  enough  to  have  melted  her  heart  and 
made  her  return  to  a  better  mood  had  she  seen  it ;  but  she 
was  too  full  of  her  own  thoughts  and  the  excitement  of 
her  undertaking  to  notice  anything.  No  sooner  was  she 
gone  out,  however,  than  Our  Lady,  walking  out  of  the 
canvas,  assumed  the  dress  that  she  had  laid  aside,  and, 
tying  the  keys  to  her  girdle,  assumed  the  office  of  portress. 

With  the  habit  of  the  portress  Our  Lady  also  assumed 
her  semblance ;  so  that  no  one  noticed  the  exchange, 
except  that  all  remarked  how  humble,  how  modest,  how 
edifying  Beatrice  had  become. 

After  a  time  the  nuns  began  to  say  it  was  a  pity  so 
perfect  a  nun  should  be  left  in  so  subordinate  a  position, 
and  they  made  her  therefore  Mistress  of  the  Novices. 
This  office  she  exercised  with  as  great  perfection,  according 
to  its  requirements,  as  she  had  the  other ;  and  so  sweetly 
did  she  train  the  young  nuns  entrusted  to  her  direction 
that  all  the  novices  became  saints. 

Beatrice  meantime  had  gone  to  live  in  the  world  as  a 
secular ;  and  though  she  often  repented  of  what  she  had 
done,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  go  tack  and  tell  all. 
She  prayed  for  courage,  but  she  went  on  delaying.  While 
she  was  in  this  mind  it  so  happened  one  day  that  the 
factor4  of  the  convent  came  to  the  house  where  she  was 
living.  What  strange  and  moving  memories  of  her 
peaceful  home  filled  her  mind  as  she  saw  his  well-known 
form,  though  he  did  not  recognise  her  in  her  secular 
dress  !  What  an  opportunity  too,  she  thought,  to  learn 
what  was  the  feeling  of  the  community  towards  her,  and 
what  had  been  said  of  her  escape ! 


230  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

i  I  hope  all  your  nuns  are  well,'  she  said.  '  I  used  to 
live  in  their  neighbourhood  once,  and  there  was  one  of 
them  I  used  to  know,  Suora5  Beatrice.  How  is  she  now?' 

'Sister  Beatrice  1 '  said  the  factor*  '  She  is  the  model 
of  perfection,  the  example  of  the  whole  house.  Every- 
body is  ready  to  worship  her.  With  all  respect  to  the 
Church,  which  never  canonizes  the  living,  no  one  doubts 
she  is  a  saint  indeed.' 

'  It  cannot  be  the  same,'  answered  Beatrice.  *  The 
one  I  knew  was  anything  but  a  saint,  though  I  loved  her 
well,  and  should  like  to  have  news  of  her.'  And  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  conceal  the  astonishment  with  which 
she  was  seized  at  hearing  him  speak  thus ;  for  the  event 
on  which  she  expected  him  -to  enlarge  at  once  was  the 
extraordinary  fact  of  her  escape.  But  he  pursued  in  the 
same  quiet  way  as  before.  '  Oh  yes,  it  must  be  the  same. 
There  has  never  been  but  one  of  the  name  since  I  have 
known  the  convent.  She  was  portress  some  time  ago ; 
but  latterly  she  has  been  made  Mistress  of  the  Novices.' 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  learnt  from  him ;  so 
she  pursued  her  inquiries  no  further.  But  he  had  no 
sooner  had  start  enough  to  put  him  at  a  safe  distance, 
than  she  set  out  to  go  to  the  convent  and  see  this  Sister 
Beatrice  who  so  strangely  represented  her. 

Arrived  at  the  convent  door,  she  asked  to  see  Sister 
Beatrice,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  Mistress  of  the 
Novices  entered  the  parlour. 

The  presence  of  the  new  Mistress  of  the  Novices  filled 
Beatrice  with  an  awe  she  could  not  account  for ;  and,  with- 
out waiting  to  ask  herself  why,  she  fell  on  her  knees  before 
her. 

4  It  is  well  you  have  come  back,  my  child,'  said  Our 
Lady  ;  '  resume  your  dress,  which  I  have  worn  for  you ; 
go  in  to  the  convent  again,  and  do  penance,  and  keep 
up  the  good  name  I  have  earned  for  you.' 

With  that  Our  Lad?  returned  to  the  canvas ;  Beatrice 


Padre  Filippo.  231 

resumed  her  habit,  and  strove  so  earnestly  to  form  herself 
by  the  model  of  perfection  Our  Lady  had  set  while  wear- 
ing it,  that  in  a  few  months  she  became  a  saint. 

1  'La  Monica   Beatrice.'      'Monica,'  provincialism  or  vulgarism  for 
'  monaca,'  a  nun. 

2  '  Albagia,'  self-esteem,  vanity. 

3  '  Kotara,'  equivalent  to  portress ;  it  alludes  to  her  having  charge  of 
the  '  ruota,'  or  '  turniquet,'  through  which  things  are  passed  in  and  out  and 
messages   conveyed  through  a   convent-wall,  without  the   nun   having  to 
present  herself  at  the  door. 

4  '  Fattore,'  an  agent  employed  by  most  convents  to  attend  to  their 
secular  affairs. 

5  'Suora'is  the  received  word  for  a 'Sister 'in  a  convent.     'Sister,' 
the  natural  relationship,  is  '  Sorella.' 

[Mr.  Ralston  gives  a  Russian  story  (pp.  249-50),  in  which 
St.  Nicholas  comes  in  person  and  serves  a  man  who  has  been 
devout  to  his  picture.] 


PADRE  FILIPPO. 

[Si.  PHILIP  NERI  is  a  giant  indeed  in  the  household 
memories  of  the  Eoman  poor.  His  acts  have  become 
travestied  and  magnified  among  them  in  the  most  por- 
tentous way,  and  they  always  talk  of  him  with  the  most 
patriotic  enthusiasm.  '  He  was  a  Eoman  !—  a  Koman  in- 
deed ! '  they  will  say.  And  yet  he  was  not  a  born  Eoman, 
but  was  made  «  Protector  of  Eome '  by  the  Church. 

'  Padre  Filippo  '  is  their  favourite  way  of  naming  him, 
and  sometimes  '  il  buon  Filippo'  and  <Pippo  buono.'] 


THERE  was  in  Padre  Filippo's  time  a  cardinal  who  was 
Prefect  of  the  provisions,1  who  let  everything  go  wrong 
and  attended  to  nothing,  and  the  poor  were  all  suffering 
because  provisions  got  so  dear. 


232  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

Padre  Filippo  went  to  the  Pope — Papa  Medici2  it 
was — and  told  him  how  badly  off  the  poor  were ;  so  the 
Pope  called  the  Cardinal  to  account,  and  went  on  making 
him  attend  to  it  till  Padre  Filippo  told  him  that  things 
were  on  a  better  footing. 

But  the  Cardinal  came  to  Padre  Filippo  and  said : 

'Why  do  you  vex  me  by  going  and  making  mischief 
to  the  Pope  ? ' 

But  Padre  Filippo,  instead  of  being  frightened  at  his 
anger,  rose  up  and  said : 

'  Come  here  and  I  will  show  you  what  is  the  fate  of 
those  who  oppress  and  neglect  the  poor.  Come  here 
Eminentissimo,  and  look,'  and  he  took  him  to  the  window 
and  asked  him  what  he  saw. 

The  Cardinal  looked,  and  he  saw  a  great  fire  of  Hell, 
and  the  souls  writhing  in  it.  The  Cardinal  said  no  more 
and  went  away,  but  not  long  after  he  gave  up  being  a 
cardinal  and  became  a  simple  brother  under  Padre 
Filippo. 

[Who  this  cardinal  may  have  been  I  do  not  know,  but 
the  story  was  told  me  another  time  in  this  form  : — ] 

IA 

THERE  was  a  cardinal  —  Grastaldi  was  his  name  —  who 
went  a  good  deal  into  society  to  the  neglect  of  more  im- 
portant duties.  One  evening,  when  he  was  at  a  conver- 
sazione, Padre  Filippo  came  to  the  house  where  he  was 
and  had  him  called  out  to  him  in  an  empty  room. 

( Your  Eminence  !  come  to  this  window,  I  have  some- 
thing to  show  you.' 

The  Cardinal  came  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  and 
instead  of  the  houses  he  saw  Hell  opened  and  all  the  souls3 
in  the  flames ;  a  great  serpent  was  wriggling  in  and  out 
among  them  and  biting  them,  and  in  the  midst  was  a  gilt 
cardinalitial  chair. 

'  Who  is  that  seat  for  ?  '  inquired  the  Cardinal. 


Padre  Filippo.  233 

'  It  is  placed  there  for  your  Eminence,'  replied  St. 
Philip. 

'  What  must  I  do  to  escape  it  ? '  exclaimed  the  Cardinal, 
horrified  and  self-convicted. 

Padre  Filippo  read  him  a  lecture  on  penitence  and 
amendment  of  life,  and  for  the  practical  part  of  his  advice 
warned  him  to  devote  to  good  works  moneys  he  had  been 
too  fond  of  heaping  up.  The  Cardinal  after  this  became 
very  devout,  and  the  poor  were  great  gainers  by  St.  Philip's 
instructions  to  him,  and  the  two  churches  you  see  at  the 
end  of  the  Corso  and  Babbuino  in  Piazza  del  Popolo  were 
also  built  by  him  with  the  money  Padre  Filippo  had 
warned  him  to  spend  aright,  and  you  may  see  his  arms 
up  there  any  day  for  yourself.4 


SOME  of  their  stories  of  him  are  jocose.  There  was  a 
young  married  lady  who  was  a  friend  of  the  Order,  and 
had  done  it  much  good.  She  was  very  much  afraid  of  the 
idea  of  her  confinement  as  the  time  approached  and  said 
she  could  never  endure  it.  Padre  Filippo  knew  how  good 
she  was  and  felt  great  compassion  for  her. 

'Never  mind,  my  child,'  said  the  'good  Philip';  'I  will 
take  all  your  pain  on  myself.' 

Time  passed  away,  and  one  night  the  community  was 
very  much  surprised  to  hear  'good  Philip'  raving  and 
shouting  with  pain ;  he  who  voluntarily  submitted  to 
every  penance  without  a  word,  and  whom  they  had  often 
seen  so  patient  in  illness.  That  same  night  the  lady's 
child  was  born  and  she  felt  no  pain  at  all. 

Early  next  morning  she  sent  to  tell  him  that  her  child 
was  born,  and  to  ask  how  he  was. 

'  Tell  her  I  am  getting  a  little  better  now,'  said  'good 
Philip,'  '  but  I  never  suffered  anything  like  it  before. 
Next  time,  mind,  she  must  manage  her  affairs  for  herself. 
For  never  will  /  interfere5  with  anything  of  that  sort 
again.' 


234  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 


ANOTHER  who  had  no  child  was  very  anxious  to  have 
one,  and  came  to  Padre  Filippo  to  ask  him  to  pray  for 
her  that  she  might  have  one.  Padre  Filippo  promised  to 
pray  for  her  ;  but  instead  of  a  child  there  was  only  a  shape- 
less thing.  She  sent  for  Padre  Filippo  once  more,  there- 
fore, and  said: 

*  There  !  that's  all  your  prayers  have  brought ! ' 
'  Oh  never  mind ! '  said  Padre  Filippo ;  and  he  took  it 
and  shaped  it  (the  narrator  twisted  up  a  large  towel  and 
showed  how  he  formed  first  one  leg  then  the  other,  then 
the  arms,  then  the  head,  as  if  she  had  seen  him  do  it). 
Then  he  knelt  down  by  the  side  and  prayed  while  he 
told  them  to  keep  silence,  and  it  opened  its  eyes  and 
cried,  and  the  mother  was  content. 

[His  winning  and  practical  ways  of  dealing  with  his 
penitents  afford  an  endless  theme  of  anecdote,  but  some 
have  grown  to  most  extravagant  proportions.  The  follow- 
ing shows  how,  as  in  all  legends,  mysteries  are  made  to 
wear  a  material  form.  The  fact  that  on  some  occasions 
he  satisfied  some,  whom  no  one  else  could  satisfy,  of  the 
boundless  mercy  of  (rod,  is  brought  to  proof  in  such  a 
tangible  way  as  to  provoke  the  denial  it  was  invented  to 
silence.] 

4 

THERE  was  a  man  who  was  dying,  and  would  not  have 
a  priest  near  him.  He  said  he  had  so  many  sins  on  him 
it  was  impossible  (rod  could  forgive  him,  so  it  was  no  use 
bothering  himself  about  confessing.  His  wife  and  his 
children  begged  and  entreated  him  to  let  them  send  for 
a  priest,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  them. 

So  they  sent  for  Padre  Filippo,  and  as  he  was  a  friend 
he  said  : 

4  If  he  comes  as  a  visitor  he  may  come  in,  but  not  as 
a  priest.' 


Padre  Filippo.  235 

Good  Philip  sat  down  by  his  side  and  said : 

'  A  visitor  may  ask  a  question.  Why  won't  you  let  me 
come  as  a  priest  ?  ' 

The  sick  man  gave  the  same  answer  as  before. 

'  Now  you're  quite  mistaken,'  said  St.  Philip,  '  and  I'll 
show  you  something.' 

Then  he  called  for  paper  and  pen  and  wrote  a  note. 

'  Padre  Eterne  ! '  he  wrote.  4  Can  a  man's  sins  be  for- 
given ?  '  and  he  folded  it,  and  away  it  went  of  itself  right 
up  to  heaven. 

An  hour  later,  as  they  were  all  sitting  there,  another 
note  came  back  all  by  itself,  written  in  shining  letters  of 
gold,  and  it  said  : — 

'  Padre  Eterne  forgives  and  receives  everyone  who  is 
penitent.' 

The  sick  man  resisted  no  longer  after  that ;  he  made 
his  confession  and  received  the  sacrament,  and  died  con- 
soled in  '  good  Philip's '  arms. 


PADRE  FILIPPO  was  walking  one  day  through  the  streets 
of  Kome  when  he  saw  a  great  crowd  very  much  excited. 
'  What's  the  matter  ? '  asked  '  good  Philip.' 

'  There's  a  man  in  that  house  up  there  beating  his  wife 
fit  to  kill  her,  and  for  nothing  at  all,  for  she's  an  angel  of 
goodness.  Nothing  at  all,  but  because  she's  so  ugly.' 

Padre  Filippo  waited  till  the  husband  was  tired  of 
beating  her  and  had  gone  out,  and  all  the  crowd  had  dis- 
persed. Then  he  went  up  to  the  room  where  the  poor 
woman  lived,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  '  Who's  there  ?  ' 
said  the  woman. 

'  Padre  Filippo  ! '  answered  '  good  Philip,'  and  the 
woman  opened  quickly  enough  when  she  heard  it  was 
Padre  Filippo  who  knocked. 

But  good  Philip  himself  started  back  with  horror  when 
he  saw  her,  she  wag  so  ugly.  However,  he  said  nothing, 


236  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

but  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  her,  and  prayed,  and 
immediately  she  became  as  beautiful  as  she  had  been 
ugly  ;  but  she  knew  nothing,  of  course,  of  the  change. 

'  Your  husband  won't  beat  you  any  more,'  said  good 
Philip,  as  he  turned  to  go  ;  *  only  if  he  asks  you  who  has 
been  here  send  him  to  me.' 

When  the  husband  came  home  and  found  his  wife  had 
become  so  beautiful,  he  kissed  her,  and  was  beside  himself 
for  joy ;  and  she  could  not  imagine  what  had  made  him  so 
different  towards  her.  '  Who  has  been  here  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Only  Padre  Filippo,'  answered  the  wife  ;  '  and  he  said 
that  if  you  asked  I  was  to  tell  you  to  go  to  him ; '  the 
husband  ran  off  to  him  to  thank  him,  and  to  say  how  sorry 
he  was  for  having  beaten  her. 

But  there  lived  opposite  a  woman  who  was  also  in 
everything  the  opposite  of  this  one.  She  was  very  hand- 
some, but  as  bad  in  conduct  as  the  other  was  good.  How- 
ever, when  she  saw  the  ugly  wife  become  so  handsome,  she 
said  to  herself,  '  If  good  Philip  would  only  make  me  a 
little  handsomer  than  I  am,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
me ; '  and  she  went  to  Padre  Filippo  and  asked  him  to 
make  her  handsomer. 

Padre  Filippo  looked  at  her,  and  he  knew  what  sort 
of  woman  she  was,  and  he  raised  his  hand  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  over  her,  and  prayed,  and  she  became 
ugly  ;  uglier  even  than  the  other  woman  had  been ! 

4  Why  have  you  treated  me  differently  from  the  other 
woman  ? '  exclaimed  the  woman,  for  she  had  brought  a 
glass  with  her  to  be  able  to  contemplate  the  improvement 
she  expected  him  to  make  in  her  appearance. 

'  Because  beauty  was  of  use  to  her  in  her  state  of  life,' 
answered  Padre  Philippo.  '  But  you  have  only  used  the 
beauty  God  gave  you  as  an  occasion  of  sin ;  therefore  a 
stumbling-block  have  I  now  removed  out  of  your  way.' 

And  he  said  well,  didn't  he  ? 


Padre  Filippo.  237 

6 

ONE  Easter  there  came  to  him  a  young  man  of  good 
family  to  confession,  and  Padre  Filippo  knew  that  every 
one  had  tried  in  vain  to  make  him  give  up  his  mistress,  and 
that  to  argue  with  him  about  it  was  quite  useless.  So  he 
tried  another  tack.  '  I  know  it  is  such  a  habit  with  you 
to  go  to  see  her  you  can't  give  it  up,  so  I'm  not  going  to 
ask  you  to.  You  shall  go  and  see  her  as  often  as  you  like, 
only  will  you  do  something  to  please  me  ? ' 

The  young  man  was  very  fond  of  good  Philip,  and 
there  was  nothing  he  would  have  not  done  for  him  except 
to  give  up  his  mistress  ;  so  as  he  knew  that  was  not  in 
question,  he  answered  '  yes '  very  readily. 

'  You  promise  me  to  do  what  I  say,  punctually  ? '  asked 
the  saint. 

4  Oh,  yes,  father,  punctually.' 

'  Very  well,  then ;  all  I  ask  is  that  though  you  go  to 
her  as  often  as  you  like,  you  just  pass  by  this  way  and 
come  up  and  pull  my  bell  every  time  you  go ;  nothing 
more  than  that.' 

The  young  man  did  not  think  it  was  a  very  hard  in- 
junction, but  when  it  came  to  performing  it  he  felt  its 
effect.  At  first  he  used  to  go  three  times  a  day,  but 
he  was  so  ashamed  of  ringing  the  saint's  bell  so  often, 
that  very  soon  he  went  no  more  than  once  a  day.  That 
dropped  to  two  or  three  times  a  week,  then  once  a  week, 
and  long  before  next  Easter  he  had  given  her  up  and  had 
become  all  his  parents  could  wish  him  to  be. 

7 

*  THERE  was  another  such  case ;  just  such  another,  only 
this  man  had  a  wife  tox>,  but  he  was  so  infatuated  with 
the  other,  he  would  have  it  she  loved  him  the  better  of 
the  two.' 

*  Yes  ;  and  the  other  was  a  miniature-painter,'  broke  in 


238  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

corroboratively  a  kind  of  charwoman  who  had  come  in  to 
tidy  the  place  while  we  were  talking. 

'  Yes,  she  was  a  miniature-painter,'  continued  the 
narrator  ;  '  but  it's  I  who  am  telling  the  story.' 

'  Padre  Filippo  said,  "  How  much  do  you  allow  her  ?  "  ' 

1  Twenty  pauls  a  day,'  broke  in  the  charwoman. 

'  Forty  scudi  a  month,'  said  the  narrator  positively. 

'  There's  not  much  difference,'  interposed  I,  fearing  I 
should  lose  the  story  between  them.  '  Twenty  pauls  a  day 
is  sixty  scudi  a  month.  It  doesn't  matter.' 

'Well,  then,  Padre  Filippo  said,'  continued  the 
narrator,  "Now  just  to  try  whether  she  cares  so  much 
about  you,  you  give  her  thirty  scudi  a  month." ' 

*  Fifteen  pauls  a  day,'  interposed  the  charwoman. 

*  Thirty  scudi  a  month ! '  reiterated  the  narrator. 

'  Never  mind,'  said  I.  '  Whatever  it  was,  it  was  to  be 
reduced.' 

4  Yes  ;  that's  it,'  pursued  the  narrator ;  '  and  he  made 
him  go  on  and  on  diminishing  it.  She  took  it  very  well 
at  first,  suspecting  he  was  trying  her,  and  thinking  he 
would  make  it  up  to  her  afterwards.' 

'  But  when  she  found  he  didn't,'  said  the  charwoman, 

4  She  turned  him  out,'  said  the  narrator,  putting  her 
down  with  a  frown.  '  He  was  so  infatuated,  however,  that 
even  now  he  was  not  satisfied,  and  said  that  in  stopping  the 
money  he  had  been  unfair,  and  she  was  in  the  right.  So 
good  Philip,  who  was  patience  itself,  said,  "  Gro  and  pay 
her  up,  and  we'll  try  her  another  way.  You  go  and  kill 
a  dog,  and  put  it  in  a  bag,  and  go  to  her  with  your  hands 
covered  with  blood,  and  let  her  think  you  have  got  into 
trouble  for  hurting  some  one,  and  ask  her  to  hide  you." 
So  the  man  went  and  killed  a  dog.' 

1  It  was  a  cat  he  killed,  because  he  couldn't  find  a  dog 
handy,'  said  the  irrepressible  charwoman. 

'  Nonsense  ;  of  course  it  was  a  dog,'  asseverated  the 
narrator.  '  But  when  he  went  to  her  house  and  pretended 


Padre  Filippo.  239 

to  be  in  a  bad  way,  and  asked  her  to  have  pity  on  him, 
she  only  answered:  "Not  I,  indeed!  I'm  not  going  to 
get  myself  into  a  scrape6  with  the  law,  for  him!""  and 
drove  him  away.  And  he  came  and  told  Padre  Filippo. 

' "  Now,"  said  good  Philip, "  go  to  your  wife  whom  you 
have  abandoned  so  long.  Go  to  her  with  the  same  story, 
and  see  what  she  does  for  you." 

'  The  man  took  the  dead  dog  in  the  bag,  and  ran  to  the 
lodging  where  his  wife  was,  and  knocked  stealthily  at  her 
door.  "  It  is  I,"  he  whispered. 

' "  Come  in,  husband,"  exclaimed  the  wife,  throwing 
open  the  door. 

' "  Stop !  hush  !  take  care !  don't  touch  me  ! "  said  the 
husband.  "There's  blood  upon  me.  Save  me  !  hide  me ! 
put  me  somewhere ! " 

' "  It's  so  long  since  you've  been  here,  no  one  will  think 
of  coming  after  you  here,  so  you  will  be  quite  safe.  Sit 
down  and  be  composed,"  said  the  wife  soothingly ;  and  she 
poured  him  out  wine  to  drink. 

'  But  the  police  were  nearer  than  he  fancied.  He  had 
thought  to  finish  up  the  affair  in  five  minutes  by  explain- 
ing all  to  her.  But  "  the  other,"  not  satisfied  with  refusing 
him  shelter,  had  gone  and  set  the  police  on  his  track ; 
and  here  they  were  after  him. 

'  The  wife's  quick  ears  heard  them  on  the  stairs.  "  Get 
into  this  cupboard  quick,  and  leave  me  to  manage  them," 
she  said. 

'The  husband  safely  stowed  away,  she  opened  the  door 
without  hesitation,  as  if  she  had  nothing  to  hide.  "  How 
can  you  think  he  is  here  ?  "  she  said  when  they  asked  for 
him.  "  Ask  any  of  the  neighbours  how  long  it  is  since  he 
has  been  here." 

' "  Oh,  three  years,"  "  four  years,"  "  five,"  said  various 
voices  of  people  who  had  come  round  at  hearing  the  police 
arrive. 

' "  You  see  you  must  have  come  to  the  wrong  place," 


240  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

she  said.  And  the  husband  smiled  as  he  heard  her  stand- 
ing out  for  him  so  bravely. 

'  Her  determined  manner  had  satisfied  the  police  ;  and 
they  were  just  turning  to  go  when  one  of  them  saw  tell- 
tale spots  of  blood  on  the  floor  that  had  dropped  from  the 
dead  dog.  The  track  was  followed  to  the  cupboard,  and 
the  man  dragged  to  prison.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  assured 
them  he  had  killed  nothing  but  a  dog. 

« "  Ha !  that  will  be  the  faithful  dog  of  the  murdered 
man,"  said  the  police.  "  We  shan't  be  long  before  we  find 
the  body  of  the  man  himself  I " 

4  The  wife  was  distracted  at  finding  her  husband,  who 
had  but  so  lately  come  back  to  her,  was  to  be  taken  away 
again ;  and  he  could  discern  how  real  was  her  distress. 

'  "  Go  to  Padre  Filippo,  and  he  will  set  all  right,"  said 
the  husband  as  they  carried  him  away.  The  woman  went 
to  Padre  Filippo,  and  he  explained  all,  amid  the  laughter 
of  the  Court.  But  the  husband  went  back  to  his  wife,  and 
never  left  her  any  more  after  that.' 

[The  story  was  told  me  another  time  with  this  variation,  that 
the  penitent  was  a  peasant 7  who  came  up  to  Rome  with  his  ass, 
and  tied  it  to  a  pillar  set  up  for  the  purpose  outside  the  church, 
while  he  went  in  to  confess.  The  first  time  he  went,  St. 
Philip  told  him  he  must  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  occa- 
sion of  sin,  who  in  this  case  was  a  spinner  instead  of  a  miniature- 
painter.  The  peasant  was  so  angry  with  the  advice  that  he 
stayed  away  from  confession  a  whole  year.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  he  came  back.  St.  Philip  received  him  with  open  arms, 
saying  he  had  been  praying  ever  since  for  his  return  to  a  better 
mind.  The  sum  that  formed  the  sliding-scale  that  was  to  open 
his  eyes  to  the  mercenary  nature  of  the  affection  he  had  so 
much  prized,  was  calculated  at  a  lower  rate  than  the  other; 
but  the  rest  of  the  story  was  the  same.] 

8 

'  AH,  there's  plenty  to  be  said  about  Padre  Filippo,' 
said  the  charwoman ;  and  I  should  have  liked  to  put  her 


Padre  Filippo.  241 

under  examination,  but  that  it  would  have  been  a  breach 
of  hospitality,  as  the  other  evidently  did  not  like  the  inter- 
ruption ;  so  I  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  the  testimony 
she  had  already  afforded  of  the  popularity  of  the  saint. 
'  Ha,  good  Padre  Filippo,  he  was  content  to  eat  "  black 
bread  "  like  us ' ;  and  she  took  a  hunch  out  of  her  pocket 
to  show  me  ;  (it  was  only  like  our  '  brown  bread.') 

'  There  was  no  lack  where  he  was.  Once  I  know,  with 
half  a  rubbio 8  of  corn,  he  made  enough  to  last  all  the  com- 
munity ten  years,'  she,  however,  ran  on  to  say  before  she 
could  be  dismissed. 

9 

ONE  day  Padre  Filippo  was  going  over  Ponte  S. 
Angelo,  when  he  met  two  little  boys  who  seemed  to  attract 
his  notice.  '  Forty-two  years  hence  you  will  be  made  a 
cardinal,'  he  said  to  one,  as  he  gave  him  a  friendly  tap 
with  his  walking-stick.  '  And  that  other  one,'  he  added, 
turning  to  his  companion,  « will  be  dead  in  two  years,' 
And  so  it  came  true  exactly. 

10 

THERE  was  another  peasant  who,  when  he  came  into  Eome 
on  a  Sunday  morning,  always  went  to  the  church  where 
St.  Philip  was.9  '  You  quite  weary 10  one  with  your  con- 
tinual preaching  about  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  I'm  so 
tired  of  hearing  about  it,  that  I  declare  to  you  I  don't 
care  so  much  about  it  as  my  mule  does  about  a  sack  of 
corn.'  Padre  Filippo  preferred  convincing  people  in  some 
practical  way  to  going  into  angry  discussions  with  them ; 
so  he  did  not  say  very  much  in  answer  to  the  countryman's 
remarks,  but  asked  him  the  name  of  his  village.  Not 
long  after  he  went  down  to  this  village  to  preach ;  and 
had  a  pretty  little  altar  erected  on  a  hill-side,  and  set 
up  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  Exposition.  Then  he  went 
and  found  out  the  same  countryman,  and  said, '  Now  bring 
B 


242  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

a  sack  of  corn  near  where  the  altar  is,  and  let's  see  what 
the  mule  does.'  The  countryman  placed  a  sack  of  corn 
near  the  altar,  and  drove  the  mule  by  to  see  what  it  would 
do. 

The  mule  kicked  aside  the  sack  of  corn,  and  fell  down 
on  its  knees  before  the  altar ;  and  the  man,  seeing  the 
token,  went  to  confession  to  St.  Philip,  and  never  said  any- 
thing profane  any  more. 

11 

THERE  were  two  other  fellows  n  who  were  more  profane 
still,  and  who  said  one  to  the  other,  '  They  make  such  a 
fuss  about  Padre  Filippo  and  his  miracles,  I  warrant  it's 
all  nonsense.  Let's  watch  till  he  passes,  and  one  of  us 
pretend  to  be  dead  and  see  if  he  finds  it  out.' 

So  said  so  done.  '  What  is  your  companion  lying  on 
the  ground  for  ? '  said  St.  Philip  as  he  passed.  '  He's  dead ! 
Father,'  replied  the  other.  i  Dead,  is  he  ? '  said  Padre 
Filippo  ;  '  then  you  must  go  for  a  bier  for  him.'  He  had 
no  sooner  passed  on  than  the  man  burst  out  laughing, 
expecting  his  companion  to  join  his  mirth.  But  his  com- 
panion didn't  move.  4  Why  don't  you  get  up  ? '  he  said, 
and  gave  him  a  kick ;  but  he  made  no  sign.  When  he 
bent  down  to  look  at  him  he  found  he  was  really  dead ;  and 
he  had  to  go  for  the  bier. 

1  '  Grrascia  e  annona '  are  two  old  words  meaning  all  kinds  of  meat  and 
vegetable  (including  grain)  food.     It  was  the  title  of  one  department  of  the 
local  administration.     There  was  a  great   dearth   in   Kome   in   the  year 
1590-1,  mentioned  in  the  histories  of  the  times.     It  is  probable  the  people 
would  ascribe  to  the  head  of  the  department  the  fault  of  the  calamity. 

2  These  people  generally  call  the  popes  by  their  family  names.     This 
'Papa  Medici'  would  be  Pius  IV.,  who  reigned  from  1569  to  1566. 

3  '  Brutte  anime,'  '  ugly  souls.' 

4  All  legends  have  doubtless  some  foundation  in  fact ;  but  unfortunately 
for  the  detail  of  this  one,  the  arms  up  in  the  fa9ade  of  the  said  Churches, 
1  Dei  Miracoli'  and  'di  Monte  Santo' — are  the  arms  of  a  Cardinal  Gastaldi  or 
Castaldi,  who  rebuilt  them  about  a  hundred  years  later  than  St.  Philip's  time. 
Alexander  VII.  having  rebuilt  the  Flaminiau  Gate,  or  Porta  del  Popolo,  the 
insignificance  of  these  two  churches  became  more  noticeable  than  before  ;  but 


Padre  Filippo.  243 

he  did  not  survive  to  carry  out  his  intention  of  rebuilding  them.  This,  was 
subsequently  performed  by  Cardinal  Gastaldi. — Maroni,  xii.  147,  xxviii. 
185  ;  Panciroli,  169  ;  Melchiorri,  254  and  420. 

5  '  Impicciare,'  '  entangle  myself  with,'  '  interfere  with ' — a  very  favourite 
Romanism. 

6  '  Impicciare,'  again  here. 

7  '  Campagnola,'  a  peasant  of  the  Campagna  near  Rome. 

8  A  ruhbio  is  between  four  and  five  acres, 

8  St.  Philip  lived  and  taught  for  thirty-three  years  at  the  Church  of  S. 
GiroLimo  della  Carita,  not  very  far  from  the  vegetable  market  in  Campo- 
de'  Fieri,  all  the  streets  about  containing  shops  much  frequented  by  the 
country  people  when  they  come  up  to  Rome  with  their  vegetables. 

10  '  Scocciare,'  to  persevere  to  weariness ;  to  din. 

11  '  Vassalli,' in  the  older  dictionaries  'vassallo'  is  only  defined  as-a 
vassal ;  but  in  modern  Roman  parlance  it  means  a  scamp,  a  vagabond. 

[Cancellieri  has  collected  some  curious  incidents  ('  Morcato,' 
p.  210—12,  Appendix  N.  xxii.)  concerning  an  attempt  which  was 
made  by  Princess  Anne  Colonna  to  obtain  from  Urban  VIII.  the 
authority  to  remove  a  part  of  the  Saint's  body  to  her  chapel  at 
Naples.  The  Fathers  of  the  Oratory  and  the  people  were  greatly 
averse  to  dividing  it,  as  it  was  very  well  preserved  in  its  en- 
tirety. By  a  fatality,  which  the  people  readily  believed  to  be 
providential,  Monsig.  Moraldo,  who  was  charged  to  bring  the 
matter  under  the  Pope's  notice,  forgot  it  every  time  he  was  in 
attendance  on  the  Pope,  though  it  was  the  most  important  thing 
he  had  to  say.  At  last  he  put  the  Bull  concerning  it  out  on  his 
desk  that  he  might  be  sure  to  remember  it,  though  otherwise  he 
would  have  kept  it  concealed,  for  it  bore  the  endorsement,  '  Per 
levare  (to  remove)  parte  del  corpo  di  S.  Filippo  Neri.'  While 
he  was  talking  about  it  to  one  of  the  papal  secretaries  standing 
near  the  window,  a  priest,  who  had  come  about  other  matters, 
was  shown  in,  and  thus  happened  to  pass  by  the  side  of  the  table 
when  the  endorsement  of  the  Bull  caught  his  eye.  With  all  a 
Roman's  desire  to  preserve  the  body  to  Rome  intact,  he  imme- 
diately gave  notice  at  the  Oratory,  and  two  courageous  young 
fathers  took  upon  themselves  to  hide  the  body.  When  the  pre- 
lates, therefore,  came  shortly  after  to  claim  the  fulfilment  of  the 
Bull,  the  Rector  opened  the  shrine  in  good  faith,  but  the  body 
was  not  there,  and  the  report  ran  among  the  vulgar  that  it  had 
been  miraculously  removed.  Subsequently  the  Rector  gave  them 
R  2 


244  Legendary  Tales  a,td  Esempj. 

the  heart,  and  drew  a  tooth  of  the  Saint,  which  was  a  verbal 
compliance  with  the  terms  of  the  Bull,  being  certainly  '  a  part  of 
the  body.'  Some  years  after,  the  body  was  restored  to  its  shrine, 
and  in  1743  Prince  Chigi  provided  it  with  velvets  and  brocades 
to  the  value  of  1,000  scudi.] 


THE  PARDON  OF  ASISL1 

ST.  FELix,2  St.  Vincent,3  and  St.  Philip  went  together 
once  upon  a  time  to  the  Pardon  of  Asisi. 

As  they  were  three  great  saints,  the  Pope  sent  for 
them  as  soon  as  they  came  back,  saying  he  had  a  question 
to  ask  them.  It  was  Innocent  IX.  or  X.,  I  am  not  sure 
which  ;  but  I  know  it  was  an  Innocent.4  He  took  them 
one  by  one,  separately,  and  began  with  St.  Felix. 

1  Were  there  a  great  many  people  at  the  Pardon  ? ' 
said  the  Pope. 

'  Oh  yes,  an  immense  number,'  answered  simple  St. 
Felix ;  '  I  had  not  thought  the  whole  world  contained 
such  a  number.' 

'  Then  a  vast  number  of  sins  must  have  been  remitted 
that  day  ? '  said  the  Pope. 

St.  Felix  only  sighed  in  reply. 

'  Why  do  you  sigh  ? '  asked  the  Pope. 

St.  Felix  hesitated  to  reply,  but  the  Pope  bade  him  tell 
him  what  was  in  his  mind. 

'  There  were  but  few  who  gained  the  indulgence  in  all 
that  multitude,'  replied  the  Saint ;  '  for  among  them  all 
were  few  who  came  with  the  contrition  required.' 

'  How  many  were  there  who  did  receive  it  ? '  again 
asked  the  Pope. 

Once  more  St.  Felix  hesitated  till  the  Pope  ordered 
him  to.  speak. 

'  There  were  only  four,'  he  then  said. 


The  Pardon  of  Asisi.  245 

«  Only  four  ! '  exclaimed  the  Pope.  '  And  who  were 
they?' 

St.  Felix  showed  even  more  reluctance  to  answer  this 
question  than  the  others  ;  but  the  Pope  made  it  a  matter 
of  obedience,  and  then  he  said, 

'The  four  were  Father  Philip,  Father  Vincent,  one 
old  man,  and  one  other.' 5 

The  Pope  next  called  for  Father  Vincent,  and  went 
through  nearly  the  same  dialogue  with  him,  and  his  list 
was 

'  Father  Philip,  Father  Felix,  one  old  man,  and  one 
other.' 

Then  the  Pope  sent  for  St.  Philip,  and  held  the  same 
discourse  with  him,  and  his  list  was 

'  Father  Vincent,  Father  Felix,  one  old  man,  and 
one  other.' 

And  the  Pope  saw  that  their  testimony  agreed  toge- 
ther, and  that  each  out  of  humility  had  abstained  from 
naming  that  he  was  one  of  the  four. 

But  when  the  people  heard  the  story,  they  all  began 
demanding  that  the  three  fathers  should  be  canonized. 

1  '  II  Perdon  di  Asisi.'     The  indulgences  attached  to  visiting  the  Church 
of  S.  Maria  degli    Angeli  near  Asisi  (otherwise  called  the  Porziuncula), 
received  this  name  on  occasion  of  its  consecration  on  the  1st  and  2nd  August, 
1225.     The  visit  on  the  anniversary  became  one  of  the  most  popular  of 
Italian  pilgrimages. 

2  San  Felice  di  Cantaliccio,  1513-87,  is  a  very  popular  saint  among  the 
Romans,  for  one  reason  because  he  was  born  of  poor  parentage.     Though 
of  low  origin,  and  only  a  lay  brother  in  his  convent,  he  was  frequently  con- 
sulted by   important   people  on  account  of  his  piety  and  prudence.      St. 
Charles  Borruineo  took  great  note  of  his  advice.     He  was  a  contemporary 
of  St.  Philip. 

8  St.  Vincent  Ferrer,  who  is  so  popular  a  saint  among  the  Romans,  so 
continually  coupled  with  St.  Philip  and  his  acts,  and  always  spoken  of  as  if 
he  had  all  his  life  been  an  inhabitant  of  Rome,  lived  just  two  centuries  earlier. 
(1351-1419)  than  the  '  Apostle  of  Rome.'  Though  he  went  about  preach- 
ing and  reforming  all  over  Europe,  and  even  in  England  and  Ireland  at  the 
invitation  of  Henry  IV.,  he  was  yet  never  in  Rome  at  all,  though  much  at 
Avignon  under  the  so-called  Benedict  XIII.,  his  countryman,  with  whom 
he  used  all  his  influence  to,  make  him  put  an  end  to,  the  schism. 


246  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

4  Innocent  IX.,  who  reigned  1590-1,  took  a  great  deal  of  notice  of  St. 
Philip.     It  is  curious  the  narrator  should  have  been  so  far  out  concerning 
St.  Vincent  and  so  correct  about  this. 

5  '  Un  vecchietto  e  un'  altro.' 

[Concerning  St.  Philip's  devotion  to  the  Portiuncula,  Cancel- 
lieri,  '  Mercato,'  §  xxi.  note  7,  records  that  he  never  missed 
attending  it  every  August  at  the  little  Church  of  S.  Salvatore,  in 
Onda,  near  Ponte  Sisto,  now  a  hospice  for  infirm  priests  (he 
gives  a  curious  inscription  in  note  *  *  *),  then  in  the  hands 
of  the  Franciscans  for  many  years,  while  he  lived  in  the 
neighbouring  Palazzo  Caccia.] 


PADRE   VINCENZO. 


THERE  was  Padre  Vincenzo  too,  who  wasn't  much  less 
than  Crood  Philip  himself.  He  was  a  miracle  of  obedience. 
One  day  when  he  was  ill  the  Father-Greneral  sent  him  a 
codfish.  Padre  Vincenzo  sent  back  word  to  thank  him, 
but  said  he  couldn't  eat  it.  '  Nonsense  ! '  answered  the 
Father-Greneral,  who  thought  he  spoke  out  of  regard  to 
his  love  of  abstinence.  '  Nonsense  !  tell  him  he  is  to  eat 
it  all.'  The  message  was  given  to  Padre  Vincenzo,  who 
was  really  too  ill  to  eat  anything ;  but  in  his  simplicity 
thinking  he  ought  to  obey,  he  ate  the  whole  fish,  head, 
tail,  bones,  and  all. 

By-and-by  the  Father-General  came  to  see  him.  He 
seemed  almost  at  the  last  gasp,  suffocated  by  the  effort  he 
had  made,  and  his  throat  all  lacerated  with  swallowing 
the  fish-bones.  The  Father-Greneral  praised  the  simpli- 
city of  his  obedience,  but  told  the  brother  who  took  the 
message  that  he  ought  to  have  explained  it  better. 

But  Padre  Vincenzo  did  not  lose  anything  by  his 
obedience,  for  that  same  evening  he  was  cured  of  his  ill- 
ness altogether,  and  was  quite  well  again. 


Padre  Vincenzo.  247 

2 

PADRE  VINCENZO  worked  so  many  miracles  that  all 
Eome  was  talking  about  him,  and  the  Father-General 
thought  he  would  get  vain,  so  he  told  him  not  to  work 
any  more  miracles.  Padre  Vincenzo  therefore  worked 
no  more  miracles ;  but  one  day  as  he  was  walking  along 
the  street,  he  passed  under  a  high  scaffolding  of  a  house  that 
was  being  built.  Just  as  he  came  by,  a  labourer  missed 
his  footing  and  fell  over  from  the  top.  '  Padre  Vincenzo, 
save  me  ! '  cried  the  man,  for  everybody  knew  Padre  Vin- 
cenzo, and  he  had  just  seen  him  turn  into  the  street. 
'  Stop  there  ! '  said  Padre  Vincenzo ;  '  I  mustn't  save  you, 
as  the  Padre-Generale  says  I'm  not  to  work  miracles ;  but 
wait  there,  and  I'll  go  and  ask  if  I  may.'  Then  he  left 
him  suspended  in  the  air  while  he  ran  breathless  to  ask 
permission  of  the  Father-General  to  work  the  miracle  of 
saving  him. 

3 

ONE  morning  Padre  Vincenzo  had  to  pass  through  the 
Eotonda  l  on  business  of  his  community.  A  temptation 
of  the  throat 2  took  him  as  he  saw  a  pair  of  fine  plump 
pigeons  such  as  you,  perhaps,  cannot  see  anywhere  out  of 
the  Eotonda  hanging  up  for  sale.  Padre  Vincenzo  bought 
the  pigeons,  and  took  them  home  secretly  under  his  cloak. 
In  his  cell  he  plucked  the  pigeons,  and  cooked  them  over 
a  little  fire.  The  unwonted  smell  of  roast  pigeon  soon 
perfumed  the  corridor,  and  two  or  three  brothers,  having 
peeped  through  the  keyhole  and  seen  what  was  going  on 
in  Padre  Vincenzo's  cell,  ran  off  to  say  to  the  Father- 
General, 

4  What  do  you  think  Padre  Vincenzo,  whom  we 
all  reckon  such  a  saint,  is  doing  now !  He  is  cooking 
pigeons  privately  in  his  cell.' 

'  It's  a  calumny !  I  can't  believe  it  of  him,'  answered 
the  Father-General  indignantly. 


248  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

The  spying  brothers  bid  him  come  and  see. 

'  I  am  certain  if  I  do,  it  will  be  to  cover  you  with  con- 
fusion in  some  way  or  other  for  telling  tales  ! '  replied  the 
Father-General  as  he  went  with  them. 

As  they  passed  along  the  corridor  there  was  the  smell 
of  roast  pigeon  most  undeniably  ;  but  when  the  Father- 
General  opened  the  cell  door  what  did  they  see  ? 

Padre  Vincenzo  was  on  his  knees,  praying  for  forgive- 
ness in  a  tone  of  earnest  contrition  ;  round  his  throat  were 
tied  the  two  pigeons,  burning  hot,  as  he  had  taken  them 
from  the  fire.  A  spirit  of  compunction  had  seized  him  as 
he  was  about  to  accomplish  the  unmortified  act  of  eating 
in  his  cell  in  contravention  of  his  rule,  and  he  had  adopted 
this  penance  for  yielding  in  intention  to  the  temptation. 

1  '  Rotonda,'  the  vulgar  name  of  the  Pantheon,  gives  its  appellation  to 
the  market  which  is  held  in  the  '  Salita  de'  Cresconzi '  and  other  adjoining 
streets. 

1  '  Gola,"  the  throat ;  used  for  '  gluttony.' 


PADRE  FONTANAROSA. 

1 

THERE  was  Padre  Fontanarosa  too.  Did  you  never 
hear  of  him  ?  He  was  a  good  friend  to  the  poor  ;  and  all 
Home  loved  him.  He  was  a  Jesuit ;  but  somehow  there 
were  some  Jesuits  who  didn't  like  him.  Papa  Braschi  *  was 
very  fond  of  him,  and  used  to  make  him  come  every  day 
and  tell  him  all  that  went  on  in  Rome,  for  he  was  very 
good  to  the  people,  and  that  way  the  Pope  heard  what  the 
people  wanted ;  and  many  things  that  were  wrong  got  set 
right  when  Padre  Fontanarosa  explained  to  the  Pope  the 
real  state  of  the  case. 

One  day  Padre  Fontanarosa  said  to  the  Pope,  '  People 
say  I  have  been  talking  too  freely,  and  call  it  telling  tales ; 
but  I  have  only  obeyed  the  wishes  of  Your  Holiness.  If 
I  have  done  wrong  send  me  away.'  But  Papa  Braschi 


Padre  Fontanarosa.  249 

answered,  'You  have  done  me  good  service.  Fear 
nothing.' 

The  next  day  after  that  Padre  Fontanarosa  did  not 
come  to  the  Vatican,  or  the  next,  or  the  next. 

Then  Papa  Braschi  called  for  his  carriage,  and  said, 
'  Drive  to  the  Gresii  ! '  Arrived  at  the  Gresu,  he  said,  '  I 
want  Padre  Fontanarosa ;  where  is  he  ? ' 

They  answered,  '  In  his  cell.' 

But  he  had  been  confined  in  his  cell  on  bread  and 
water  for  chattering. 

« Then  let  him  be  brought  out  of  his  cell ;  for  I  want 
him ! '  answered  Papa  Braschi. 

That  time  he  took  Padre  Fontanarosa  away  in  his 
carriage,  and  no  one  durst  say  anything  to  him  any  more. 


FATHER  FONTANAROSA  was  very  simple  in  his  habits  him- 
self; and  he  thought  the  best  way  to  keep  the  Order 
simple  was  to  keep  it  poor.  Whenever  anyone  wanted  to 
leave  money  to  it,  instead  of  encouraging  them,  he  used 
to  tell  them  of  some  other  good  work  to  which  they  might 
leave  it. 

One  day  there  was  a  penitent  of  his  who  was  very 
devoted  to  the  Jesuits,  a  very  rich  nobleman,  who  came 
to  die,  and,  as  he  was  making  his  will,  he  would  have 
Padre  Fontanarosa  and  the  notary  present  together.  '  I 
leave  all  of  which  I  die  possessed  to  the  Church  of  the 
Cresu,'  dictated  the  rich  nobleman. 

'  What !  do  you  leave  all  to  the  Son  and  nothing  to 
the  Mother ! '  said  Padre  Fontanarosa,  who  knew  he  was 
too  weak  to  argue  with  him  as  to  whether  the  Order  was 
better  without  the  money  or  not,  and  therefore  adopted 
this  mode  of  avoiding  the  snare,  without  damaging  the 
good  purpose  of  the  testator. 

'  Ah !  you  are  right,'  answered  the  dying  man.  '  Thank 
you  for  reminding  me.  Make  a  codicil,'  he  said  to  the 
notary,  '  and  say  I  meant  it  for  Gesu  and  Maria.' 


250  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

The  notary  wrote  just  what  he  was  bid,  and  the  dying 
man  and  the  witnesses  signed  all  duly.  But  the  money 
had  to  go,  not  to  '  the  Gresu '  at  all,  but  to  the  church  of 
'  Gesu  e  Maria ' — you  know  where,  at  the  end  of  the 
Corso,  which  doesn't  belong  to  the  Jesuits  at  all,  but  to 
the  Augustinians. 


OTHERS  give  him  not  quite  such  a  good  character,  and 
tell  the  following  story  of  him  : — 

The  reason  why  the  Jesuits  did  not  look  favourably  on 
Father  Fontanarosa  was  that  they  thought  he  went  too 
often  to  the  house  of  a  certain  lady.  He  perceived  that 
they  had  found  out  that  he  visited  her,  but  he  went  on  all 
the  same,  only  he  said  to  her,  '  If  anything  happens  that 
the  fathers  send  after  me,  and  anyone  comes  into  the  room 
suddenly ;  fall  down  on  your  knees  before  the  crucifix,  and 
I  will  speak  so  that  I  may  seem  to  be  here  to  give  you  a 
penitential  warning.' 

There  happened  to  be  a  handsome  crucifix,  kept 
more  for  ornament  than  devotion,  on  a  slab  in  her  boudoir, 
and  she  promised  to  heed  his  caution. 

One  day,  when  they  were  together,  they  heard  a  ring 
at  the  outer  door ;  then  a  whispering  in  the  passage ;  then 
footsteps  in  the  adjoining  room.  Padre  Fontanarosa 
looked  at  the  lady,  and  the  lady  looked  at  Padre  Fontana- 
rosa. Each  understood  that  they  were  under  surveillance. 
She  fell  down  on  her  knees  before  the  crucifix,  and  he 
exhorted  her  to  take  a  pattern  from  the  Magdalen ;  and, 
as  she  knelt  clasping  the  foot  of  the  cross,  with  her 
beautiful  hair  all  loose  over  her  shoulders,  she  really 
looked  like  a  living  picture  of  the  Magdalen.  Still  no 
one  came  into  the  room.  But  they  felt  they  were  being 
watched ;  so  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  the  deception. 
Padre  Fontanarosa  had  to  speak  loudly  and  fervently  in 
order  to  make  his  words  resound  well  in  the  adjoining 


Giuseppe  Labre.  251 

room ;  the  lady  had  to  sob  to  show  she  was  attending  to 
them.  Still  no  one  came  in  ;  and  Padre  Fontanarosa  had 
to  continue  his  discourse  till,  partly  through  fear  lest  his 
courage  should  fail,  and  partly  lest  he  should  be  discovered, 
he  forced  himself  to  forget  present  circumstances,  and  to 
throw  himself  into  his  exhortation  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  preached  with  a  force  and  eloquence  he  had  never 
exercised  in  his  life  before. 

At  last  those  who  had  been  listening  felt  satisfied  of 
his  sincerity,  and  went  back  to  the  General  and  told  him 
there  was  no  fault  to  be  found  in  him. 

But  so  effectually  had  he  preached,  and  so  salutary 
had  been  his  warnings,  that  the  next  day  the  lady  entered 
a  convent,  to  be  a  penitent  all  her  days. 

1  Pius  VI.,  who  reigned  1775-1799. 


S.  GIUSEPPE  LABRE.1 


6  THERE  was  Giuseppe  Labre  too,  and  many  wonderful  things 
he  did ;  he  was  a  great  saint,  as  all  the  people  in  the 
Monti 2  knew.  I  don't  know  if  they've  put  all  about  him 
in  books  yet;  if  so,  you  may  have  read  it;  but  I  can't 
read.' 

'  I  know  a  Life  of  him  has  been  published ;  but  tell 
me  what  you  have  heard  about  him  all  the  same.' 

Giuseppe  Labre,  you  know,  passed  much  of  his  time 
in  meditation  in  the  Coliseum  ;  the  arch  behind  the  pic- 
ture of  the  Second  Station,3  that's  where  he  used  to  be  all 
day,  and  where  he  slept  most  nights,  too.  There  was  a 
butcher  in  the  Via  de'  Serpenti  who  knew  him,  and  kept  a 
little  room  for  him,  where  he  made  him  come  and  sleep 
when  the  nights  were  bad  and  cold,  or  stormy.  These 
people  were  very  good  to  him,  and,  though  not  well  off 


252  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj. 

themselves,  were  ready  to  give  him  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  in  his  love  for  poverty  would  consent  to  accept. 

One  great  affliction  this  butcher  had ;  his  wife  was 
bedridden  with  an  incurable  disorder.  One  night  there 
was  a  terrible  storm,  it  was  a  burning  hot  night  in  sum- 
mer, and  Giuseppe  Labre  came  to  sleep  at  the  butcher's. 
He  was  lying  on  his  bed  in  the  little  room,  which  was  up 
a  step  or  two  higher  than  the  butcher's  own  room,  where 
his  wife  lay,  just  as  it  might  be  where  that  cupboard  is 
there.  Presently  the  butcher's  wife  heard  him  call  her, 
saying, 

'  Sora  Angela,  bring  me  a  cup  of  water  for  the  love  of 
God!' 

'  My  friend,  you  know  how  gladly  I  would  do  anything 
to  help  you,  but  my  husband  is  not  come  up,  and  I  have 
no  one  to  send,  and  you  know  I  cannot  move.' 

Nevertheless  Giuseppe  called  again,  '  Sora  Angela, 
bring  me  a  cup  of  water  for  the  love  of  God  ! ' 

'  Don't  call  so,  good  friend,'  replied  she  ;  '  it  distresses 
me  ;  you  know  how  gladly  I  would  come  if  I  could  only 
move.' 

Yet  still  the  third  time  Giuseppe  Labre  said, 

'  Sora  Angela,  hear  me  !  Bring  me  a  cup  of  water  for 
the  love  of  God ! '  And  he  spoke  the  words  so  authori- 
tatively that  the  good  woman  felt  as  if  she  was  bound  to 
obey  him,  she  made  the  effort  to  rise,  and,  can  you 
believe  it !  she  got  up  as  if  there  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  her ;  and  from  that  time  forward  she  was  cured. 

2 

THERE  was  a  poor  cobbler  who  always  had  a  kind 
word  for  Giuseppe  too.  One  day  Giuseppe  Labre  came  to 
him,  and  said  he  wanted  him  to  lend  him  a  pair  of  shoes 
as  he  was  going  a  pilgrimage  to  Loreto.  The  cobbler 
knew  what  a  way  it  was  from  Eome  to  Loreto,  and  that 
there  would  not  be  much  left  of  a  pair  of  shoes  after  they 


Giuseppe  L  abre.  253 

had  done  the  way  there  and  back.  Had  Labre  asked  him 
to  give,  them,  his  regard  for  him  would  have  prompted 
him  to  assent  however  ill  he  could  afford  it ;  but  to  talk 
of  lending  shoes  to  walk  to  Loreto  and  back  seemed 
like  making  game  of  him,  and  he  didn't  like  it.  Never- 
theless he  couldn't  find  it  in  his  heart  to  refuse,  and  he 
gave  him  a  pretty  tidy  pair  which  he  had  patched  up 
strong  to  sell,  but  without  expecting  ever  to  see  them 
again. 

GKuseppe  Labre  took  the  shoes  and  went  to  Loreto, 
and  when  he  came  back  his  first  call  was  at  the  cobbler's 
shed ;  and  sure  enough  he  brought  the  shoes  none  the 
worse  for  all  the  wear  they  had  had.  So  perfectly  un- 
injured were  they  that  the  cobbler  would  have  thought 
they  were  another  pair  had  it  not  been  that  he  recognised 
the  patches  of  his  own  clumsy  work. 

3 

ANOTHER  more  matter-of-fact  account  of  this  story  was 
that  he  did  not  wear  the  shoes  on  the  journey,  as  he  did 
that  barefoot,  i.e.  with  wooden  sandals,  and  only  borrowed 
the  shoes  to  be  decent  and  reverent  in  visiting  the  Sanc- 
tuary. In  this  case  the  story  was  told  me  to  illustrate 
his  conscientiousness  both  in  punctually  returning  the 
shoes  and  in  taking  so  much  care  of  his  trust. 

1  S.  Joseph  Labre  was  born  at  Boulogne,  of  parents  of  the  lower  middle 
class,  in  1749,  and  died   1783.     He  came  to  Rome  on  a  pilgrimage  when 
young,  and  remained  here  the  rest  of  his  days,  passing  his  time  in  prayer 
and  contemplation  in  the  various  shrines  of  Home.     He  every  year  made 
the  pilgrimage  to  Loreto  on  foot.     He  was  supported  entirely  by  the  alms 
of  the  people. 

2  In  the  Eione  Monti  are  the  streets  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  poor  and 
working  classes  of  Rome.     Joseph  Labre  passed  his  life  in  their  midst, 
and  they  always  speak  of  him  with  affection,  as  a  hero  of  their  own  order. 
It  only  needs  to  go  to  the  Church  of  the  Madonna  de'  Monti  on  the  day  of 
his  '  Patrocinio  '  to  see  how  popular  he  is. 

1  The  stations  of  the  '  Way  of  the  Cross'  are  arranged  round  the 
interior  of  the  Coliseum.;  and  until  out-of-door  devotions  were  forbidden 
by  the  new  Government,  the  Via  Crucis  was  constantly  performed  here,  led 
by  a  Capuchin  and  by  various  confraternities,  and  always  well  attended. 


254  Legendary  Tales  and  Esempj . 


THE   TWELVE   WORDS  OF  TRUTH.1 

THIS  is  a  « ritornella,'  the  whole  being  repeated  over  as 
each  new  sentence  is  added.  I  remember,  years  ago, 
meeting  the  same  in  Wiltshire,  and  then  there  was  this 
additional  refrain  to  be  repeated  : 


Then  it  went  on 


'  When  want  is  all  the  go ; 
And  it  evermore  shall  be  so.' 


'  I'll  sing  you  three  O ; 
Three  0  are  rivo.' 


If  I  remember  right,  there  were  no  numbers  before 
three-o.  Four,  were  the  four  Evangelists,  and  nine,  the 
nine  orders  of  angels,  as  in  the  text ;  but  the  seventh  line 
was  '  seven  are  the  seven  bright  stars  in  the  sky,'  and 
this,  taken  in  connexion  with  the  text,  establishes  a 
curious  link  in  popular  mythology  between  the  mysterious 
Seven-branch  Candlestick  and  the  Pleiades.  Subjoined 
is  a  translation  of  the  text. 

'  One,  and  first,  is  the  Lord  God,  ever  ready  to  help 
us.'  ('  Domeniddio '  is  a  popular  way  of  naming  God, 
like  the  French  '  le  bon  Dieu,'  identical  with  the  German 
'  unser  Herrgott.') 2 

'  Two  stands  for  the  keys  of  heaven.  There  is  gold.' 
(This  would  be  the  literal  rendering  of  this  line,  but  it 
has  manifestly  been  lamed  by  bad  memory.)  3 

'  Three  stands  for  three  patriarchs,  &c.'  4 

'  Four  stands  for  the  four  columns  which  support  the 
world,  &c.' 5 

'  Five  stands  for  the  five  wounds  of  Jesus  Christ.' 6 

'  Six  stands  for  the  six  cocks  which  crowed  in 
Galilee.'7 

'  Seven  are  the  seven  tapers  that  burnt  in  Jerusalem.' 
('  Canto rno '  for  cantarono,  a  vulgar  transposition,  like 
'  hunderd,'  and '  childern,'  in  English  ;  '  ardorno '  similarly, 


The  Twelve  Words  of  Truth.  255 

instead  of  '  arderono,'  though  '  arsero  '  would  be  the  cor- 
rect form.) 8 

'  Eight '  stands  for  the  octave  of  Christ.  (Probably  in 
allusion  to  the  '  octave,'  or  eight  days'  festival,  of  Christ- 
mas.) 9 

'Nine 'stands  for  the  nine  quires  of  angels.10 

«  Ten  '  stands  for  the  ten  years  of  Christ,  (What  '  ten 
years  '  it  is  not  easy  to  see.)  n 

'  Eleven '  stands  for  the  crowning  with  thorns.  (St. 
Bridget  or  Soeur  Emmerich,  in  their  minute  meditations 
or  '  Kevelations '  on  the  Passion,  have  fixed  a  number  for 
the  thorns  in  our  Lord's  crown,  but  I  do  not  remember  what 
they  make  it ;  there  may  be  a  tradition  that  it  was 
eleven.) 12 

'  Twelve '  stands  for  the  Twelve  Apostles.13 

Le  dodici  Parole  della  Verita.. 
'  Uno  e  primo  e  Domeniddio,  che  sempre  c'aiuta.' 
'  Due  sono  le  chiavi  del  cielo,  c'e  1'oro.' 
'  Tre  sono  tre  Patriarch!  Abramtae,  Giacobbe,  e  Isaache.' 
'  Quattro    sono    le    quattro  colonne   che  il  mondo  mantiene ;  Luca, 


Gio 


anni,  Marco,  e  Matteo.' 


'  Cinque  sono  le  piaghe  de  Gesii  Cristo.' 
•  Sei  sono  i  sei  galli  che  cantorno  in  Galilea.'  } 

'  Sette  sono  i  sette  cerini  ch'  ardorno  in  Gemsalemme.'    / 
'  Otto  e  1'ottava  di  Cristo.' 

10  i  Nove  sono  i  nove  cori  degli  angeli.' 

11  '  Dieci  e  la  diecenna  di  Cristo.' 

12  '  Undici  e  la  coronazione  di  spine.' 

13  '  Dodici  sono  i  dodici  Apostoli.' 


GHOST   AND   TREASURE    STORIES   AND 
FAMILY   AND   LOCAL   TRADITIONS, 


THE  DEAD  MAN  IN  THE  OAK-TREE.1 

THERE  was  a  parcel  of  young  fellows  once  who  were  a 
nuisance  to  everybody  in  Kome,  for  they  were  always  at 
some  mischievous  tricks  when  it  was  nothing  worse.  But 
there  was  one  of  them  who  was  not  altogether  so  bad 
as  the  rest.  For  one  thing,  there  was  one  practice  of 
devotion  he  had  never  forgotten  from  the  days  when  his 
mother  taught  him,  and  that  was,  to  say  a  De  Profundis 
whenever  he  saw  a  dead  body  carried  past  to  burial.  But 
what  concerned  his  companions,  was  the  fear  lest  he  should 
some  day  perhaps  take  it  into  his  head  to  reform,  and  in 
that  case  it  was  not  impossible  he  might  be  led  to  give 
information  against  them. 

At  last  they  agreed  that  the  best  thing  they  could  do  was 
to  put  him  out  of  the  way.  Quietly  as  their  conspiracy  was 
conducted,  he  saw  there  was  something  plotting,  and 
determined  to  be  out  of  reach  of  their  murderous  inten- 
tions ;  so  he  got  up  early  one  morning,  and  rode  out  of 
Kome. 

On,  on,  on,2  he  went  till  he  had  left  Eome  many  miles 
behind,  and  then  he  saw  hanging  in  an  oak-tree  the 
body  of  a  man  all  in  pieces,  among  the  branches. 

For  a  moment  he  was  overcome  with  horror  at  the 
sight ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  did  not  forget  his  good  practice 
of  saying  a  De  Profundis. 

No  sooner  had  he  completed  the  psalm,  than  one  by 
one  the  pieces  came  down  from  the  tree  and  put  them- 
selves together,  till  a  dead  man  stood  before  him,  all  com- 
plete. Gladly  would  he  have  spurred  his  horse  on  and 
got  away  from  the  horrible  sight,  but  he  was  riveted  to  the 


260          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  £fc. 

spot,  and  durst  not  move,  or  scarcely  take  breath.  But 
worse  was  in  store,  for  now  the  dreadful  apparition  took 
hold  of  his  bridle. 

'  Fear  nothing, young  man!'  said  the  corpse,  in  a  tone, 
which  though  meant  to  be  kind,  was  so  sepulchral  that  it 
thrilled  the  ear.  '  Only  change  places  with  me  for  a  little 
space ;  you  get  up  in  the  oak-tree,  and  lend  your  horse 
to  me.' 

The  youth  mechanically  got  off  his  horse,  and  climbed 
up  into  the  tree,  while  the  mangled  corpse  got  on  to  the 
horse,  and  rode  away  back  towards  Borne.  He  had  not 
been  gone  five  minutes  when  he  heard  four  shots  3  fired. 

Looking  from  his  elevation  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound,  he  saw  his  four  evil  companions,  who  had  just  fired 
their  pieces  into  the  corpse  which  rode  his  horse,  without 
making  it  sit  a  bit  less  erect  than  before.  Then  he  saw 
them  go  stealthily  up  to  the  figure  and  look  at  it,  and 
then  run  away,  wild  with  terror, 

As  soon  as  they  had  turned  their  backs,  the  corpse 
turned  the  horse's  head  round,  and  trotted  back  to  the 
oak-tree. 

'  Now,  my  son,'  said  the  corpse,  alighting  from  the 
horse,  '  I  have  done  you  this  good  turn  because  you  said 
a  De  Profundis  for  me;  but  such  interpositions  don't 
befall  a  man  every  day.  Turn  over  a  new  leaf,  before  a 
worse  thing  happens,' 

Having  said  this,  the  dead  body,  piece  by  piece, 
replaced  itself  amid  the  branches  of  the  oak-tree,  where  it 
had  hung  before. 

The  young  man  got  on  his  horse  again,  penitent  and 
thoughtful,  and  rode  to  a  friary,4  where,  after  spending 
an  edifying  life,  he  died  a  holy  death. 

1  '  II  Morto  della  Quercia.' 

2  '  Cammino,  cammino,  cammino  ; '  see  note  6,  p.  13. 
*  '  Quattro  arquebuzate.' 

4  '  Frateria,'  a  popular  word  for  a  monastery. 


The  Dead  Mans  Letter.  261 


THE  DEAD  MAWS  LETTER* 

THERE  was  a  rich  man,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  rich  he  was, 
who  died  and  left  all  his  great  fortune  to  his  son,  palaces 
and  houses,  and  farms  and  vineyards.  The  son  entered 
into  possession  of  all,  and  became  a  great  man  ;  but  he 
never  thought  of  having  a  mass  said  for  the  soul  of  his 
father,  from  whom  he  had  received  alL 

There  was  also,  about  the  same  time,  a  poor  man,  who 
had  hardly  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  and  he 
went  into  a  church  to  pray  that  he  might  have  wherewithal 
to  feed  his  children.  So  poor  was  he,  that  he  said  within 
himself,  '  None  poorer  than  I  can  there  be.'  As  he  said 
that,  his  eye  lighted  on  the  box  where  alms  were  gathered, 
that  masses  might  be  offered  for  the  souls  in  Purgatory. 
'  Yes,'  he  said,  then,  '  these  are  poorer  than  I,'  and  he  felt 
in  his  pocket  for  his  single  baiocco,  and  he  put  it  in  the 
alms  box  for  the  holy  souls.2 

As  he  came  out,  he  saw  a  painone  3  standing  before  the 
door,  as  if  in  waiting  for  him ;  but  as  he  was  well-dressed, 
and  looked  rich,  the  poor  man  knew  he  could  have  no 
acquaintance  with  him,  and  would  have  passed  on. 

'  You  have  done  me  so  much  good,  and  now  you  don't 
speak  to  me,'  said  the  stranger. 

'When  did  I  thee  much  good?'  said  the  poor  man 
bewildered. 

'  Even  now,'  said  the  stranger ;  for  in  reality  he  was 
no  painone,  but  one  of  the  holy  souls  who  had  taken 
that  form,  and  he  alluded  to  the  poor  man's  last  coin,  of 
which  he  had  deprived  himself  in  charity. 

'I  cannot  think  to  what  your  Excellency4  alludes,' 
replied  the  poor  man. 

'  Nevertheless  it  is  true,'  returned  the  painone  ;  *  and- 
now  I  will  ask  you  to  do  me  another  favour.  Will  you 
take  this  letter  to  such  and  such  a  palace  ?  '  and  he  gave 


262          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

him  the  exact  address.  '  When  you  get  there,  you  must 
insist  on  giving  it  into  the  hands  of  the  master  of  the 
house  himself.  Never  mind  how  many  times  you  are  re- 
fused, do  not  go  away  till  you  have  given  it  to  the  master 
himself.' 

4  Never  fear,  your  Excellency,'  answered  the  poor  man, 
1 I'll  deliver  it  right.' 

When  he  reached  the  palace,  it  was  just  as  the  painone 
had  seemed  to  expect  it  would  be.  First  the  porter  came 
forward  with  his  cocked  hat  and  his  gilt  knobbed  stick, 
with  the  coloured  cord  twisted  over  it  all  the  way  down, 
and  asked  him  whither  he  was  going. 

'  To  Count  so-and-so,'  answered  the  poor  man. 

4  All  right !  give  it  here,'  said  the  splendid  porter. 

« By  no  means,  my  orders  were  to  consign  it  to  the 
count  himself.' 

*  (TO  in  and  try,'  answered  the  porter.  '  But  you  may 
as  well  save  yourself  the  stairs ;  they  won't  let  such  as  you 
in  to  the  count.' 

'I  must  follow  orders,'  said  the  poor  man,  and 
passed  on. 

At  the  door  of  the  apartment  a  liveried  servant  came 
to  open. 

'  What  do  you  want  up  here?  if  you  have  brought  any- 
thing, why  didn't  you  leave  it  with  the  porter  ? ' 

'  Because  my  orders  are  to  give  this  letter  into  the 
count's  own  hands,'  answered  the  poor  man. 

'  A  likely  matter  I  shall  call  the  "  Signer  Conte  "  out, 
and  to  such  as  you  !  Give  here,  and  don't  talk  nonsense.' 

'  No  !  into  the  count's  own  hands  must  I  give  it.' 

c  Don't  be  afraid ;  I've  lived  here  these  thirty  years, 
and  no  message  for  the  "  Signor  Conte  "  ever  went  wrong 
that  passed  through  my  hands.  Yours  isn't  more  precious 
than  the  rest,  I  suppose.' 

'  I  know  nothing  about  that,  but  I  must  follow 
orders.' 


TJie  Dead  Mans  Letter.  263 

'  And  so  must  I,  and  I  know  my  place  too  well  to  call 
out  the  "  Signer  Conte  *  to  the  like  of  you.' 

The  altercation  brought  out  the  valet. 

1  This  fellow  expects  the  "  Signor  Conte  "  to  come  to  the 
door  to  take  in  his  letters  himself,'  said  the  lackey,  laugh- 
ing disdainfully.  'What's  to  be  done  with  the  poor 
animal  ? ' 

« Give  here,  good  man,'  said  the  valet,  patronisingly 
not  paying  much  heed  to  the  remarks  of  the  servant ; 
'  I  am  the  "  Signor  Conte's  "  own  body  servant,  and  giving 
it  to  me  is  the  same  as  giving  it  to  himself.' 

'Maybe,'  answered  the  poor  man,  'but  I'm  too  simple 
to  understand  how  one  man  can  be  the  same  as  another. 
My  orders  are  to  give  it  to  the  count  alone,  and  to  the 
count  alone  I  must  give  it.' 

'  Take  it  from  him,  and  turn  him  out,'  said  the  valet, 
with  supreme  disdain,  and  the  lackey  was  not  slow  to 
take  advantage  of  the  permission.  The  poor  man,  however, 
would  not  yield  his  trust,  and  the  scuffle  that  ensued 
brought  the  count  himself  out  to  learn  the  reason  of  so 
much  noise. 

The  letter  was  now  soon  delivered.  The  count  started 
when  he  saw  the  handwriting,  and  was  impelled  to  tear 
the  letter  open  at  once,  so  much  did  its  appearance  seem 
to  surprise  him. 

'  Who  gave  you  the  letter  ? '  he  exclaimed,  in  an 
excited  manner,  as  soon  as  he  had  rapidly  devoured  its 
contents. 

'  I  cannot  tell,  I  never  saw  the  person  before,'  replied 
the  poor  man. 

'  Would  you  know  him  again  ? '  inquired  the  count. 

'  Oh,  most  undoubtedly !'  answered  the  poor  man ;  '  he 
said  such  strange  things  to  me  that  I  looked  hard  at  him.' 

'  Then  come  this  way,'  said  the  count ;  and  he  led  him 
into  a  large  hall,  round  which  were  hung  many  portraits 
in  frames.  '  Do  you  see  one  among  these  portraits  that 


264          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

at  all  resembles  him  ? '  he  said,  when  he  had  given  him 
time  to  look  round  the  walls. 

4  Yes,  that  is  he  ! '  said  the  poor  man,  unhesitatingly, 
pointing  to  the  portrait  of  the  count's  father,  from  whom 
he  had  inherited  such  great  wealth,  and  for  whom  he  had 
never  given  the  alms  of  a  single  mass. 

'Then  there  is  no  doubt  it  was  himself,'  said  the  count. 
'  In  this  letter  ^he  tells  me  that  you  of  your  poverty  have 
done  for  him  what  I  with  all  my  wealth  have  never  done,' 
he  added  in  a  tone  of  compunction.  '  For  you  have  given 
alms  for  the  repose  of  his  soul,  which  I  never  have ; 
therefore  he  bids  me  now  take  you  and  all  your  family 
into  the  palace  to  live  with  me,  and  to  share  all  I  have 
with  you.' 

After  that  he  made  the  man  and  all  his  family  come 
to  live  in  the  palace,  as  his  father  directed,  and  he  was 
abundantly  provided  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

1  '  La  Lettera  del  Morto.' 

*  '  Bussola,'  a  box  for  alms,  &e. 

3  '  Painone,' '  Paino ' ;  a  sneering  way  of  naming  a  well-dressed  person. 
'  Painone,'  augmentative  of  the  same. 

4  '  Sua  Eccellenza.'    The  cant  form  of  address  of  the  Koman  beggar. 

['  I  know  one  of  that  kind,'  interposed  one  sitting  by.  '  Will 
you  hear  it  ?  But  mine  is  true,  mine  is  a  real  fact,  and  happened 
no  longer  ago  than  last  October ; '  and  he  told  me  the  very 
names  and  address  of  the  people  concerned  with  the  greatest  par- 
ticularity ;  this  was  in  January  1873.] 


THE   WHITE  SOUL.1 

THE  people  he  had  named  were  a  husband  and  wife,  shop- 
keepers, with  a  good  business.  They  had  taken  in  a 
woman,  a  widow,  as  they  thought,  to  board  with  them  for 
life.2 

The  first  night  after  she  came  the  wife  suddenly  woke 
up  the  husband,  saying  : — 


The  White  Soul      .  265 

'  What  is  it  that  kneels  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ?  surely 
it  is  a  white  soul.' 

6 1  see  nothing,'  said  the  husband  ;  « go  to  sleep ! ' 

The  wife  said  no  more,  but  the  next  night  it  was  the 
same  thing,  and  the  next,  and  the  next ;  and  she  described 
so  sincerely  what  she  saw,  and  with  so  much  earnestness, 
that  the  husband  could  have  no  doubt  that  what  she  said 
was  true.  And  as  he  saw  it  disturbed  her  rest,  and  made 
her  ill,  he  said  : —  f 

'  If  it  comes  again,  to-night,  we  will  conjure  it.' 

It  had  been  going  on  almost  a  month  (I  told  you  it 
happened  in  October),  and  it  was  just  the  night  of  All 
Souls'  day3  that  he  happened  to  say  this. 

That  night,  again,  the  wife  woke  him  with  a  start — 

'  There  it  is,'  she  said,  '  the  white  soul ;  it  kneels  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.' 

The  husband  said  nothing,  but  following  the  direction 
of  his  wife's  hand,  he  solemnly  bid  the  apparition  depart, 
in  the  name  of  the  Most  Holy  Trinity  and  the  Madonna. 

Though  he  had  seen  nothing,  he,  too,  now  heard  a 
voice,  and  the  voice  said  that  it  was  her  father  whom  the 
wife  had  seen  ;  that  it  was  not  well  that  they  should  have 
in  the  house  the  woman  whom  they  had  taken  in  to  board, 
for  that  it  was  on  her  account  he  was  now  suffering 
penance.  '  Think  of  this,'  he  said,  finally,  « for  I  cannot 
stay  to  tell  you  more ;  for  it  is  the  hour  of  prayer.' 4 

The  lighting  up  of  a  masked  ball  could  not  be  com- 
pared to  the  brightness5  which  filled  the  room  as  the  spirit 
disappeared.  And  this  the  husband  saw  well,  though  he 
had  not  seen  the  soul. 

The  husband  and  wife  thought  a  good  deal  of  what 
they  had  heard;  they  had  never  known  before  of  the 
father's  intimacy  with  this  woman,  but  they  inquired,  and 
found  it  was  even  so. 

Then  the  man  took  into  his  head  to  go  to  one  of  these 
new  people,  what  do  they  call  it?  spiritismo,  magnetismo,6 


266          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

or  whatever  it  is.  He  made  them  call  up  the  spirit  of 
his  wife's  father,  and  he  asked  if  it  was  he  who  had 
appeared  at  night  in  the  bedroom  all  the  month  through, 
and  he  said,  '  yes,  that  it  was.'  And  he  asked  him  about 
all  the  particulars,  and  he  confirmed  them  all.  '  Then,' 
he  said, '  if  indeed  it  was  you,  give  me  some  sign  to-night;' 
and  he  said  he  would. 

There  was  a  ruler  in  the  chest  of  drawers  in  the  bed- 
room, and  all  through  the  night  there  were  knocks ;  now 
on  the  ceiling,  now  on  the  floor,  now  on  the  walls,  as  if 
given  with  that  ruler,  and  we  know  those  '  spiritismo ' 
people  say  the  spirits  make  themselves  understood  by 
knocking. 

After  that,  they  sent  away  their  boarder,  though  at 
considerable  pecuniary  loss. 

1  '  L'Anima  Bianca.' 

2  '  A  vitalizia '  is  an  agreement  by  which  persons  pay  a  sum  down  and 
are  taken  in  to  board  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

*  '  La  Festa  dei  Morti,'  November  2. 

4  '  Che  e  ora  dell'  orazione.'    I  give  this  very  quaint  idea  in  the  words 
in  which  it  was  told  to  me. 

5  '  Era  altro  che  un  festino,  il  chiarore.'  The  lighting  up  of  a  theatre  for  a 
public  masqued  ball  would  naturally  be  the  highest  impression  of  brightness 
for  a  poor  man  in  Eome.     '  Altro  che '  is  his  favourite  word  in  the  sense  of 
'  no  comparison.'      '  Altro  ! '  alone  stands  for  '  I  should  think  so ! '     '  Isn't 
it  indeed ! '  &c. 

8  Since  the  invasion  of  September  1870,  Rome  has  been  placarded  with 
announcements  of  mediums  who  may  be  consulted  on  every  possible  occa- 
sion. I  give  the  whole  story  as  it  was  told  me,  but  I  have,  of  course, 
no  means  of  knowing  how  the  seance  was  conducted,  and  there  is  every 
likelihood  the  man  would  be  so  full  of  the  strange  occurrence  that  he  would 
begin  by  letting  out  all  on  which  he  came  to  it  to  seek  confirmation.  The 
introduction  of  these  mediums  has  been  welcomed  as  supplying  the  means 
of  gratifying  that  craving  after  the  supernatural  which  was  denied  them 
under  the  former  administration.  '  Witchcraft  was  forbidden  by  the  former 
law,  therefore  we  may  suppose  it  was  wrong,'  reason  the  less  intelligent  and 
those  who  wish  to  be  deceived ;  '  spiritismo  is  allowed  by  the  law  which 
rules  us  to-day,  therefore  we  may  suppose  it  is  right ; '  and  thus  we  are 
beginning  to  see  here  what  Cantu  had  written  of  other  parts  of  Italy  and 
Europe :  '  But  who  will  feel  the  courage  to  contemn  the  follies  of  another  age 
when  he  sees  the  absurd  credulity  of  our  own,  which  upon  similar  manifes- 


The  White  Serpent.  267 

tations  founds  other  theories.  .  .  .  Eecent  writers  on  the  subject  (see  in 
particular,  Allan  Kardec,  '  Le  Spiritisme  a  sa  plus  simple  expression,'  '  Le 
Livre  des  esprits,'  &c.),  themselves  acknowledge  that  the  oracles  and  pytho- 
nesses of  old,  and  the  genii,  sorcerers,  and  magicians  of  later  ages,  were  the 
predecessors  of  these  mediums.  We  have  therefore  come  back  to  that  which 
we  ridicule  in  our  ancestors.' 

['  I  know  a  story  like  that,'  said  the  first  man,  '  and  a  true  one 
too ;  it  happened  in  1848  or  1849.'] 


THE   WHITE  SERPENT.1 

MY  story  is  also  of  a  husband  and  wife,  but  they  were 
peasants,  and  lived  outside  the  gates. 

'  It  is  so  cold  to-night,'  said  the  husband  to  the  wife, 
as  they  went  to  bed,  '  we  shall  freeze  if  we  have  another 
night  like  it.  We  must  contrive  to  wake  before  it  is  light, 
and  go  and  get  some  wood  somewhere  before  we  go  to 
work,  to  make  a  fire  to-morrow  night.' 

So  they  woke  very  early,  before  it  was  light,  and  went 
out  to  get  wood.2  The  husband  stood  up  in  the  tree,  and 
the  wife  down  below  in  a  ditch,  or  hole.  As  she  stood 
there  she  saw  a  great  white  serpent  glide  past  her.  '  Look, 
look ! '  she  cried  to  her  husband  ;  «  see  that  great  white 
serpent ;  surely  there  is  something  unnatural  about  it ! ' 

'  A  white  serpent ! '  answered  her  husband  ;  '  what  non- 
sense !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  a  white 
serpent ! ' 

'  There  it  goes,  then,'  said  the  wife ;  '  you  can  see  it 
for  yourself.' 

1 1  see  nothing  of  the  kind,'  said  the  husband.  '  There 
are  no  serpents  about  Eome  this  many  a  long  year ;  and 
as  for  a  white  one,  such  a  thing  doesn't  exist.' 

While  he  spoke  the  serpent  went  through  a  hole  in 
the  ground.  As  the  husband  was  so  positive,  the  wife  said 
no  more,  but  they  gathered  up  the  wood  and  went  home. 

Ju  the  night,  however,  the  wife  had  a  dream.     She 


268          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

saw  an  Augustinian  friar,  long  since  dead,  standing  before 
her,  who  said  '  Angela !  (that  was  indeed  her  name)  if  you 
would  do  me  a  favour  listen  to  me.  Did  you  see  a  white 
serpent  this  morning  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  she  answered ;  '  that  I  did,  though  my  hus- 
band said  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  white  serpent  in 
existence.' 

4  Well,  if  you  would  do  me  a  pleasure,  go  back  to  the 
place  where  you  saw  the  white  serpent  go  in — not  where 
he  came  out,  but  where  you  saw  him  go  into  the  earth. 
Dig  about  that  place,  and,  when  you  have  dug  a  pretty 
good  hole,  a  dead  man  will  start  up ; 3  but  don't  be  afraid, 
he  can't  hurt  you,  and  won't  want  to  hurt  you.  Take  no 
notice  of  him,  and  go  on  digging,  and  no  harm  will  come 
to  you ;  you  have  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  If  you  dig  on 
you  will  come  to  a  heap  of  money.  Take  some  of  the 
biggest  pieces  of  gold  and  carry  them  to  St.  Peter's,  and 
take  some  of  the  smaller  pieces  and  carry  them  to  S. 
Agostino,4  and  let  masses  be  said  for  that  dead  man. 
But  you  must  tell  no  one  alive  anything  about  it.' 

The  woman  was  much  too  frightened  to  do  what  the 
friar  had  said,  but  she  managed  to  keep  the  story  to  her- 
self, though  it  made  her  look  so  anxious  her  husband 
could  not  help  noticing  something. 

The  next  night  the  friar  came  again,  and  said  the 
same  words,  only  he  added :  '  If  you  are  so  frightened, 
Angela,  you  may  take  with  you  for  company  a  little  boy, 
but  he  must  not  be  over  seven,  nor  under  six  ;  and  what 
you  do  you  must  tell  no  one.  But  you  have  nothing  to 
fear,  for  if  you  do  as  I  have  said  no  one  can  harm  you.' 

For  all  his  assurances,  however,  she  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  go,  nor  this  day  could  she  even  keep  the 
story  from  her  husband,  for  it  weighed  upon  her  mind. 
When  he  heard  the  story  he  said,  '  I'll  go  with  you.' 

1  Ah !  if  you'll  go,  then  I  don't  mind,'  she  said.  *  But 
how  will  it  be  ?  The  friar  was  so  particular ^that  I  should 


The  White  Serpent.  269 

tell  no  one,  evil  may  happen  if  I  take   another   with 
me.' 

'  If  there  is  nothing  in  the  story,  there's  nothing  to 
fear,'  said  the  husband ;  '  and,  if  the  story  is  true,  there 
is  a  heap  of  money  to  reward  one  for  a  little  fear  ;  so  let's 
go.  Besides,  if  you  think  any  harm  will  happen  to  you 
for  taking  me,  I  can  stand  on  the  top  of  the  bank  while 
you  go  down  to  the  hole,  and  it  can't  be  said  properly 
that  I'm  there,  while  I  shall  yet  be  by  to  give  you  courage 
and  help  you  if  anything  happens.' 

4  That  way,  I  don't  mind  it,'  answered  the  wife  ;  and 
they  went  out  together  to  the  place,  the  husband,  as  he 
had  said,  standing  by  on  a  bank,  and  the  wife  creeping 
down  into  a  hole.  They  took  also  two  donkeys  with  them 
to  bring  away  the  treasure. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  the  woman's  spade  there  came 
such  lugubrious  cries  that  she  was  frightened  into  running 
away. 

'  Don't  be  afraid,'  said  the  husband ;  '  cries  don't 
hurt ! '  So  the  woman  began  digging  again,  and  then 
there  came  out  cries  again  worse  than  before,  and  the 
noise  of  rattling  of  chains,  dreadful  to  hear.  So  terrified 
was  the  woman  that  she  swooned  away. 

The  husband  then  went  down  into  the  hole  with  what 
water  he  could  find  to  bring  her  to  herself,  but  the 
moment  he  got  into  the  hole  the  spirits  set  upon 
him  and  beat  him  so  that  he  had  great  livid  marks  all 
over. 

After  that  neither  of  them  had  the  heart  to  go  back  to 
try  it  again. 

But  the  woman  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  confession 
to  one  of  the  Augustinian  fathers,  and  she  told  him  all. 
The  fathers  sent  and  had  the  place  dug  up  all  about, 
and  thought  they  had  proved  there  was  nothing  there ; 
but  for  all  that,  it  generally  happens  that  when  a  thing 
like  that  has  to  be  done,  it  must  be  done  by  the  person 


2  7O          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

who  is  sent,  and  anybody  else  but  that  person  trying  it 
proves  nothing  at  all. 

One  thing  is  certain,  that  when  those  horrid  assassins 5 
hide  a  heap  of  money  they  put  a  dead  man's  body  at 
the  entrance  of  the  hole  where  they  hide  it,  and  say  to  it, 
'  Thou  be  on  guard  till  one  of  such  a  name,  be  it  Teresa, 
be  it  Angela,  be  it  Pietro,  comes ; '  and  no  one  else  going 
can  be  of  any  use,  for  it  may  be  a  hundred  years  before 
the  coincidence  can  happen  of  a  person  just  of  the  right 
name  lighting  on  the  spot — perhaps  never. 

1  Yes,  yes !  that's  a  fact ;  that  is  not  old  wives'  non- 
sense^ 6  was  the  chorus  which  greeted  this  enunciation. 

1  'La  serpe  bianca;'  'serpe'  is  of  both  genders,  but  is  most  commonly 
used  in  the  feminine  as  hi  the  common  saying  '  allevarsi  la  serpe  in  seno,' 
to  nurture  a  serpent  in  one's  bosom. 

2  '  Per  far  legna.'  '  Fare '  is  brought  in  on  all  occasions.   Bazzarini  gives 
59  closely  printed  columns  of  instances  of  its  various  uses;  here  it  means 
to  cut  wood  for  burning ;  '  legno'  is  wood ;   '  legna,'  wood  for  burning. 

1  '  S'alzera  un  morto.' 

4  S.  Agostino  is  the  favourite  with  the  people  of  all  the  churches  of 
Rome. 

*  '  Brutti  assassini.'   In  a  country  where  the  cultus  of '  il  bello '  has  been 
so  well  understood,  '  ugly '  has  naturally  come  to  be  used  as  a  term  of  deep- 
est reproach. 

6  '  Si,  si,  questo  e  positive,  non  e  donnicdolara,  e  positive.' 

*  This  kind  of  spell  seems  analogous  to  one  of  which  a  curious  account 
is  preserved  by  Menghi  (Compendio  dell'  Arte  Essorcista,  lib.  ii.  cap.  xl.), 
which  I  quote,  because  it  has  a  local  connexion  with  Rome,  and  there  are 
not  many  such.     An  inhabitant  of  Dachono  in  Bohemia,  he  says,  brought 
his  son,  a  priest,  to  Rome  in  the  Pontificate  of  Pius  II.  (1458-64)  to  be 
exorcised,  as  all  relief  failed  in  his  own  country ;  a  woman  whom  he  had 
reproved  for  her  bad  life   had  bewitched   him,  adding,  'that  the   spell 
(maldicio)  was  imposed  on  him  by  her  under  a  certain  tree,  and  if  it  was 
not  removed  in  the  same  way,  he  could  not  otherwise  be  set  free  ;  and  she 
•would  not  reveal  under  what  tree  it  was.'      The  spell  acted  upon  him  only 
at  such  times  as  he  was  about  to  exercise  his  sacred  ministry,  and  then  it 
impeded  his  actions,  forced  him  to  put  his  tongue  out  at  the  cross,  &c.  &c. 
'  The  more  earnest  the  devotion  with   which  I  strive  to  give  myself  to 
prayer,'  he  said,  '  so  much  the  more  cruelly  the  devil  rends  me  ;  (mi  lacera). 
In  St.  Peter's,  the  narrator  goes  on  to  say,  is  a  column  brought  from  the 
Temple  of  Solomon,  by  means  of  which  many  possessed  persons  have  been 
liberated,  because  our  Lord  had  leant  against  it  when  teaching  there,  and  it 


The  Procession  of  Velletri.  271 

was  thought  that  this  might  be  sufficiently  potent  to  represent  the  fatal 
tree.  He  was  brought  to  it,  however,  in  vain.  Being  tied  to  it,  and  asked 
to  point  out  the  spot  where  Christ  had  touched  it,  the  spirit  which  possessed 
him  replied  by  making  him  bite  it  on  a  certain  spot  with  his  teeth  and  say, 
'  Qui  stette,  qui  stette,'  (here  He  stood)  in  Italian,  although  he  did  not 
know  a  word  of  the  language,  and  was  obliged  to  inquire  what  the  words 
he  had  uttered  meant.  But  the  spell,  nevertheless,  was  not  got  rid  of  thus. 
It  was  then  understood  that  the  spirit  must  be  of  that  kind  of  which  Christ 
had  said  '  he  goeth  not  out  except  by  prayer  and  fasting ; '  and  a  pious  and 
venerable  bishop,  taking  compassion  on  the  man,  devoted  himself  to  prayer 
and  fasting  for  him  all  through  Lent ;  and  thus  he  was  delivered  and  sent 
back  to  his  own  country  rejoicing. 

[*  I,  too,  know  a  fact'of  that  kind  which  most  certainly 
happened,  for  I  know  Maria  Gfrazia  to  whom  it  happened 
well,  before  she  went  to  live  at  Velletri,'  said  one  of  them.] 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  VELLETRI. 

MARIA  GTRAZIA  lived  in  a  convent  of  nuns  at  Velletri,  and 
did  their  errands  for  them.  One  night  one  of  the  nuns 
who  was  ill  got  much  worse  towards  night,  and  the  factor J 
not  being  there,  the  Superior  called  up  Maria  Grrazia  and 
said  to  her, — '  Maria  Gfrazia,  Sister  Maria  such  a  one  2  is 
BO  very  bad  that  I  must  get  you  to  go  and  call  the  provost 
to  her.  I'm  sorry  to  send  you  out  so  late,  but  I  fear  &he 
won't  last  till  morning.' 

Maria  Gfrazia  couldn't  say  nay  to  such  an  errand,  and 
off  she  set  by  a  clear  moonlight  to  go  to  the  house  of  the 
provost,  which  was  a  good  step  off  and  out  of  the  town. 
All  went  well  till  Maria  Gfrazia  had  left  the  houses  behind 
her,  but  she  was  no  sooner  in  the  open  country  than  she 
saw  a  great  procession  of  white-robed  priests  and  acolytes 
bearing  torches  coming  towards  her,  chanting  solemnly. 
'  What  a  fine  procession ! '  thought  Maria  Grazia  ;  '  I  must 
hasten  on  to  see  it.  But  what  can  it  be  for  at  this  time 
of  night  ? ' 

Still  she  never  doubted  it  was  a  real  procession  till  she 


272          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

got  quite  close,  and  then,  to  her  surprise,  the  procession 
parted  in  two  to  let  her  go  through  the  midst,  which  a 
real  procession  would  never  have  done. 

You  may  believe  that  she  was  frightened  as  she  passed 
right  through  the  midst  of  those  beings  who  must  have 
belonged  to  the  other  world,  dazed  as  she  was  with  the 
unearthly  light  of  the  flaring  torches ;  it  seemed  as  if  it 
would  last  for  ever.  But  it  did  come  to  an  end  at  last, 
and  then  she  was  so  frightened  she  didn't  know  what  to 
do.  Her  legs  trembled  too  much  to  carry  her  on  further 
from  home,  and  if  she  turned  back  there  would  be  that 
dreadful  procession  again.  Curiosity  prompted  her  to 
turn  her  head,  in  spite  of  her  fears ;  and  what  gave  her 
almost  more  alarm  than  seeing  the  procession  was  the  fact 
that  it  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  What  could  have  become 
of  it  in  the  midst  of  the  open  field  ?  Then  the  fear  of  the 
good  nun  dying  without  the  sacraments  through  her  faint- 
heartedness stirred  her,  but  in  vain  she  tried  to  pluck  up 
courage.  '  Oh ! '  she  thought, '  if  there  were  only  some  one 
going  the  same  road,  then  I  shouldn't  mind ! ' 

She  had  hardly  formed  the  wish  when  she  saw  a 
peasant  coming  along  over  the  very  spot  where  the  pro- 
cession had  passed  out  of  sight.  '  Now  it's  all  right,'  she 
said ;  for  by  the  light  of  the  moon  he  seemed  a  very  re- 
spectable steady-looking  peasant. 

1  What  did  you  think  of  that  procession,  good  man,' 
said  Maria  Grrazia ;  '  for  it  must  have  passed  close  by  you, 
too?' 

The  peasant  continued  coming  towards  her,  but  said 
nothing. 

'  Didn't  it  frighten  you  ?  It  did  me ;  and  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  moved  from  the  spot  if  you  hadn't 
come  up.  I've  got  to  go  to  the  provost's  house,  to  fetch 
him  to  a  dying  nun ;  it's  only  a  step  off  this  road,  will 
you  mind  walking  with  me  till  I  get  there  ? ' 

The  peasant  continued  walking  towards  her,  but  an- 
swered nothing. 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     273 

'  Maybe  you're  afraid  of  me,  as  I  was  of  the  procession, 
that  you  don't  speak,'  continued  Maria  Grazia ;  '  but  I  am 
not  a  spirit.  I  am  Maria  Grazia,  servant  in  such  and  such 
a  convent  at  Velletri.' 

But  still  the  peasant  said  nothing. 

'  What  a  very  odd  man  ! '  thought  Maria  Grazia.  '  But 
as  he  seems  to  be  going  my  way  he'll  answer  the  purpose 
of  company  whether  he  speaks  or  not.'  And  she  walked 
on  without  fear  till  she  came  to  the  provost's  house,  the 
peasant  always  keeping  beside  her  but  never  speaking. 
Arrived  at  the  provost's  gate  she  turned  ground  to  salute 
and  thank  him,  and  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  too 
had  disappeared !  he  too  was  a  spirit ! 

When  the  archpriest  came  he  had  his  nephew  and  his 
servant  to  go  with  him,  and  they  carried  torches  of  straw,3 
for  it  seems  in  that  part  of  the  country  they  use  straw 
torches ;  so  she  went  back  in  good  company. 

And  Maria  Grazia  told  me  that  herself. 

1  '  Fattore,'  an  agent ;  a  man  who  attends  to  the  business  and  pecuniary 
affairs  of  a  convent. 

2  '  Suora  Maria  tale.'     Mary  being  such  a  favourite  name,  it  has  to  be 
generally  qualified  by  a  second  name  being   appended    to    it  by  way  of 
distinction. 

1  '  Fiaccole  di  paglia.' 


SMALLER  GHOST  AND   TREASURE  STORIES  AND 
FAMILY  AND  LOCAL  TRADITIONS. 

1 

BUT  the  belief  in  ghosts,  though  it  exists,  as  we  have  seen 
by  the  above  specimens,  is  by  no  means  generally  diffused. 
'  No !  *  I  don't  believe  such  things,'  is  the  general  reply  I  have 
received  when  inquiring  for  them.  I  could  not,  indeed,  help 
being  annoyed  with  the  strongmindedness  of  an  old  woman  one 
T 


274          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

day,  who  asserted  her  contempt  for  the  idea  so  persistently  that 
she  quite  '  shut  up '  two  others  who  were  inclined  to  be  commu- 
nicative of  their  experiences. 

'  I've  often  slept  in  a  room  where  it  was  said  the  ghost  of  a 
woman  who  was  killed  there,  walked  about  with  her  head  under 
her  arm ;  but  I  never  saw  her,'  said  I,  to  set  the  thing  going. 

'  Oh !  I  wouldn't  have  done  that  for  the  world  ! '  exclaimed 
Nos.  2  and  3  together. 

'And  why  not?'  said  No.  1.  'There  was  nothing  to  be 
seen,  of  course.  There  are  no  such  things  as  ghosts  ! '  2 

'  Ah  !  Some  see  them  and  some  don't  see  them,  and  you're 
one  of  those  who  don't  see  them.  Thats  where  it  is,'  said 
No.  2. 

'  Yes,'  added  No.  3  ;  '  I  know  lots  of  people  who  have  seen 
them,'  and  she  was  going  on  to  give  examples,  but  No.  1  put  her 
down. 

'  Did  you  ever  see  one  yourself  ? '  interposed  I,  to  keep  the 
ball  rolling. 

'  Well,  yes  ...  so  far  that  .  .  .'  she  began,  hesitatingly ; 
but  No.  1  broke  in  again  with  her  vehement  iteration  that  there 
are  no  ghosts. 

'  I  know  there  are,  though,'  persisted  No.  2  ;  'for  my  mother 
has  told  me  there  is  a  house  .  .  .' 

'Here  in  Rome?'  asked  I. 

'  Yes,  here  in  Eome,  where  she  used  to  work,  where  there 
was  a  ghost 3  that  used  to  pull  the  bedclothes  off  anyone  who 
slept  in  that  particular  room,  and  leave  him  uncovered.  As  fast 
as  you  pulled  them  over  you,  the  spirit  pulled  them  off  again  ; ' 
and  she  imitated  the  movement  with  her  hands. 

2 

'  Oibo  ! '  interposed  No.  1 .  '  I  '11  tell  you  what  ghosts  are. 
Ghosts  are  most  often  robbers,  who  get  people  to  think  they  are 
ghosts,  in  order  to  be  able  to  rob  in  peace.  There  was  a  famous 
one,  I  remember  well,  about  the  year  1830,  who  used  to  be 
called  the  Ghost  of  St.  John's,4  because  he  used  to  make  him- 
self heard  in  the  houses  about  St.  John  Lateran.  There  were 
several  robberies  in  the  same  neighbourhood  just  at  the  same 
time,  but  no  one  thought  of  connecting  the  two  things,  till  at 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     275 

last  one  bethought  him  of  it,  and  he  laid  in  wait,  pistol  in  hand, 
till  the  ghost  came  by. 

'  By  it  came  ;  and  "  pop  !  "  went  the  pistol.  And  there,  on 
the  spot,  lay  the  body  of  one  whom  the  police  didn't  see  for  the 
first  time. 

'  That's  what  ghosts  are  ! ' 

'  That  may  have  been,'  replied  Nos.  2  and  3  ;•  '  but  that 
doesn't  prove  that  there  are  no  ghosts  for  all  that.' 


'  Ghosts  !  ghosts  !  are  all  in  silly  people's  own  heads  ! '  ex- 
claimed No.  1.  'I  can  tell  you  of  one  there  was  in  an  old 
palace  at  Foligno.  No  one  would  sleep  there  because  of  the 
ghosts,  and  the  palace  became  quite  deserted.  At  last  a  sports- 
man,5 who  was  a  relation  of  mine,  said  he  wasn't  afraid;  he 
would  go  up  there  one  night,  and  give  an  account  of  it.  He 
went  there,  pistol  in  hand.  At  the  time  for  the  ghosts  to  appear, 
in  through  a  hole  over  the  window  did  come  a  great  thing  with 
wings.  The  sportsman,  nothing  daunted,  fired  at  it ;  and,  lo  and 
behold,  a  large  hawk  6  fell  dead  on  the  floor  ;  then  another,  and 
another,  up  to  five  of  them. 

'  That's  what  ghosts  are,  I  tell  you  !  ' 

[The  following  is  from  another  narrator.] 


SOME  friars  were  going  round  begging  for  their  convent, 
when  night  overtook  them  in  a  wood. 

'  What  shall  we  do  if  any  wolves  come  ?  I  don't  be- 
lieve there  is  any  habitation  in  these  parts,  and  there  will 
be  no  place  to  run  to  and  no  one  to  help  us.  We  must 
commend  ourselves  to  the  Madonna,  and  wait  the  event.' 

They  had  scarcely  done  so  when  one  of  them  saw  a 
light  sparkling  through  the  trees.  They  thought  it  came 
from  some  woodman's  cottage,  and  followed  its  leading ; 
but  instead  of  a  cottage  they  came  to  a  handsome  inn. 
As  the  door  stood  invitingly  open  they  went  in :  a  fire 
blazed  on  t'ie  hearth ;  a  repast  was  spread  on  the  table  ; 

T   2 


276          Ghost  and  Trtasure  Stories^  &c. 

a  number  of  maidens,  attired  in  pure  and  shining  white, 
flitted  about  and  brought  all  they  wanted.  AYhen  they 
had  well  supped,  these  led  them  to  a  room  where  was  a 
bed  apiece,  and  in  the  morning  again  they  gave  them 
breakfast. 

Before  they  started  again,  the  friars  asked  the  maidens 
to  take  them  to  offer  their  thanks  to  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  they  led  them  into  a  room  where  was  a  most 
beautiful  lady,  who  inquired  kindly  if  they  had  been  well 
served  and  wished  them  a  good  journey.  Moreover,  as 
they  went  she  gave  them  a  folded  paper. 

The  friars,  unused  to  be  so  entertained,  were  much 
bewildered,  and  wondered  what  lady  it  could  be  who  lived 
all  alone  with  her  maidens  in  that  wild  wood ;  and  they 
turned  back  to  look  at  the  inn  that  they  might  know  it 
again,  but  it  had  entirely  disappeared,  nor  was  there  a 
vestige  of  it  to  be  found. 

Then  they  opened  the  folded  paper  the  lady  had  given 
them,  and  by  the  shining  letters  within  they  knew  it  was 
the  Madonna  herself  had  entertained  them. 


Another,  who  didn't  believe  there  were  ghosts  to  be  seen — 
'  she  had  heard  plenty  of  such  stories,  but  she  didn't  give  her 
mind  to  such  things,' — yet  told  me,  she  believed  there  were 
treasures  hid  in  countless  places,7  but  people  could  seldom  get  at 
them ;  there  was  always  a  hailstorm,  or  an  earthquake,  or  some- 
thing, which  happened  to  stop  them ;  the  Devil  wouldn't  let 
people  get  at  them. 

6 

Another,  whose  belief  in  ghosts  was  doubtful,  reckoned  she 
knew  various  cases  to  be  facts,  in  which  men  hid  treasures  under 
a  spell,  that  could  be  removed  if  a  person  could  devise  the 
counterspell,  by  hitting,  even  accidentally,  on  what  the  original 
spell  had  been.8 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     277 


'  If  you  want  ghost-stories,  I  can  tell  them  as  well  as  another ; 
but  mind  I  don't  believe  such. things,'  said  another. 
'  Tell  me  what  you've  heard,  then.' 

'  WELL,  I  have  heard  say  that  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
Monti,9  and  not  so  long  ago  either,  who  was  always 
finding  money  about  the  house,  and  that  too,  in  places 
where  she  knew  no  one  could  have  put  it.  The  first  thing 
in  the  morning  when  she  got  up  she  would  find  it  on  the 
floor  all  about  the  room.  Or  if  she  got  up  from  her  work 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  though  she  knew  no  one  had 
come  in,  there  it  would  be. 

'  One  day  she  saw  three  silver  papetti  10  on  the  floor. 
It  wasn't  that  there  was  no  silver  money  ever  to  be  seen, 
and  nothing  but  dirty  paper  notes,  and  half  of  them  false, 
as  it  is  now  o'  days.  It  was  in  the  time  of  the  Pope,  and 
there  was  plenty  of  silver  for  those  who  had  money  at  all, 
but  still,  to  see  three  silver  papetti  lying  on  the  floor 
all  of  a  sudden  was  a  sight  for  anyone. 

'  It  looked  so  strange  that  she  hesitated  before  she 
picked  it  up.  But  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind  and  took 
it.  No  sooner  had  she  done  so  than  a  spirit  appeared  be- 
fore her,  and  said,  "  Come  down  with  me  into  the  cellar 
and  I'll  show  you  something." 

' "  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  not  knowing 
what  to  do  for  fear. 

' "  Nonsense !  come  down,  you  shan't  be  hurt,"  said  the 
spirit. 

' "  I'd  rather  not,  sir,  thank  you,"  was  all  the  woman 
could  stammer  out. 

'  "  You  must  come  !  I'll  give  you  something  to  make 
you  rich  for  good  and  all,"  persisted  the  spirit ;  and,  gome- 
how,  she  didn't  know  how,  she  felt  herself  obliged  to 
follow  him. 

*  Down  in  the  cellar  was  another  spirit  awaiting  her, 


278          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

and  the  moment  she  got  down  they  took  her,  the  one  by 
the  head  and  the  other  by  the  feet,  and  laid  her  into  a 
coffin  n  which  stood  there  all  ready  on  a  bier.12  One  at 
each  end,  they  took  it  up,  with  the  woman  in  it,  and 
walked  round  and  round  the  cellar  with  it,  chaunting 
the  "Miserere,"  and  she  was  too  frightened  to  call  out, 
much  more  to  attempt  to  move. 

'  By-and-by  they  set  the  bier  down,  and  as  she  heard 
nothing  more  she  concluded  the  spirits  were  gone ;  still 
she  durst  not  move  till  some  few  rays  of  daylight  began 
to  peep  through  ;  then  she  summoned  up  courage  to  get 
out  of  the  coffin. 

'  When  she  did  so  she  saw  it  was  all  of  solid  gold,  as 
well  as  the  bier.  There  was  gold  enough  to  have  made 
her  rich  to  the  end  of  her  days,  but  she  was  so  frightened 
that  she  wasn't  able  to  enjoy  it,  but  died  at  the  end  of  a 
month  ;  for  riches  that  are  got  in  ways  that  are  not 
straightforward  never  profit  anyone. 

*  That's  the  story  as  it's  told ;  but  I  don't  believe  those 
things,  mind  you.' 

8 

'  Ah  !  I  remember,  too,  when  I  was  quite  a  girl  and 
lived  with  my  father  and  mother  in  a  house  near  Piazza 
Barberini,  I  remember  one  day  my  little  sister  Ghisa 
coming  running  up  out  of  the  cellar  crying  out  there  was 
a  spirit  which  had  stood  waving  its  hand,  and  beckoning 
to  her. 

'  And  when  the  others  went  down  to  see  what  it  was 
all  about,  they  did  find  some  human  bones  in  a  corner  of 
the  cellar,  and  no  one  knew  how  they  got  there.  But 
that  didn't  prove  that  the  child  had  actually  seen  a  ghost.' 

9 

[The  above  story  of  the  golden  coffin,  it  will  be  observed,  was 
told  as  of  a  particular  district  in  Eome.  Another  time,  it  was 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     2  79 

told  me  of  a  village  in  the  Campagna;  the  narrator  said  she 
knew  the  name  well,  but  could  not  recollect  it  at  the  moment. 
In  other  respects,  there  -were  few  differences  of  detail ;  but  the 
countrywoman  was  more  robust  and  courageous  than  the  town 
woman,  and  this  is  how  she  got  on.] 

8  She  was  always  finding  half-pence  about  the  ground 
where  she  worked.  One  day  she  found  a  silver  piece  ;  as 
she  went  to  pick  it  up  she  saw  "  One "  standing  by. 
"  Come  with  me  !  "  he  said ;  and  the  countrywoman,  not 
at  all  afraid,  went  with  him.  He  led  her  by  solitary 
ways  till  he  came  to  a  lone  empty  cottage,  when  he  left 
her.  Quite  undaunted,  she  walked  in.  There  was  a  large 
empty  room  in  the  midst,  all  lighted  up  with  ever  so 
many  lights. 

' "  Don't  touch,  don't  touch  ! "  screamed  an  anxious 
voice.  "  Touch  !  touch  !  "  shouted  a  more  gloomy  voice. 
At  last  she  did  touch.' 

['Touched  what!'  asked  I;  'the  lights,  or  the  floor,  or 
what  ?  ' 

The  narrator  was  posed  by  the  question. 

'  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  she  touched.  It  must  be  supposed 
she  touched  something.'] 

4  Instantly  all  the  lights  went  out,  and  she  stood  in 
the  strange  place  in  the  dark.  Still  she  was  not  frightened. 
She  had  the  courage  to  strike  a  light.  By  its  means  she 
saw  there  was  now  a  large  coffin  in  the  midst  of  the  room. 
She  went  straight  up  to  it  and  opened  it.  It  was  full  of 
money !  Waiting  till  daylight,  she  took  home  with  her 
as  much  as  ever  she  could  carry.  But  she  kept  her  own 
counsel,  and  never  told  anyone,  and  when  she  wanted 
money  she  went  back  there  and  took  it. 

'  But  if  she  never  told  anyone,  how  did  anyone  know 
the  story  ? ' 


280          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

10 

'  This  one  now  is  quite  true,  for  Sora  Maria  (you  know 
who  I  mean)  told  me  of  it,  and  she  knew  the  woman  as 
well  as  her  own  sister. 

'  This  woman  lived  near  the  church  of  S.  Spirito  de 
Napoletani — you  know  it  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  in  Via  Griulia.' 

'  Exactly.  Well,  she  used  to  take  in  washing  to  make 
a  little  for  herself  more  than  what  her  husband  gave  her. 
But  he  didn't  like  her  doing  it,  and  was  very  angry 
whenever  he  saw  her  at  it.  But  as  he  was  out  all  day  at 
his  work,  she  used  to  manage  to  get  through  with  it  in 
his  absence  pretty  well. 

'  One  day  the  water  would  not  boil,  all  she  could  do. 
First  she  got  excited,  then  she  got  angry.  "  It  isn't  that 
I  care,"  she  said  ;  "  but  if  my  husband  comes  home  and 
sees  what  I  am  doing  he'll  be  so  angry  !  "What  will  he 
say !  What  shall  I  do !  I  would  give  my  soul  to  the 
devil  only  to  get  it  boiling  in  time  ! " 

'  Scarcely  had  she  said  the  words  when  blu,  blu,  blu  ! 
the  water  began  to  bubble  up  in  the  pot,  boiling  furiously 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  though  it  was  now  so  short  a  time 
before  her  husband  came  back,  all  the  work  was  done  and 
out  of  sight,  and  he  perceived  nothing. 

1  In  the  night  came  a  paino,13  and  stood  in  the  doorway 
of  the  bedroom  and  beckoned  to  her  ;  and  as  she  looked 
she  saw  that  every  now  and  then  flames  and  sparks  flew 
about,  out  of  him. 

'  At  last  she  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  she  woke  her 
husband  and  told  him  all.  The  husband  could  see  nothing, 
and  tried  to  quiet  her,  but  she  kept  crying  out,  now, 
"  Here  he  is,  here ! "  and  now,  "  There  he  is,  there  !  "  till  at 
last  he  was  obliged  to  call  the  friars  of  S.  Spirito  de'  Napoli- 
tani  to  her  to  exorcise  the  spirit ;  and  it  was  very  difficult, 
because  she  had  promised  to  give  her  soul  to  the  devil ; 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     281 

but  it  had  been  thoughtlessly  done,  and  in  the  end  the 
apparition  was  got  rid  of.' 

[It  so  happens,  however,  that  the  church  of  S.  Spirito 
de'  Napolitani  is  served  by  secular  priests,  and  not  friars.] 

11 

4  Here's  another  thing  I  have  heard  that  will  do  for 
you. 

'  There  were  two  who  took  a  peasant  and  carried  him 
into  the  Campagna.' 

6  What !  two  ghosts  ? ' 

c  No,  no !  two  fellows  who  had  more  money  than  they 
knew  what  to  do  with.  They  took  him  into  the  Cam- 
pagna and  made  an  omelette  very  good,  with  plenty  of 
sweet-scented  herbs  in  it,  and  made  him  eat  it. 

4  Then  they  took  a  barrel  and  measured  him  against  it, 
and  then  another,  till  they  found  one  to  fit,  and  killed 
him  and  filled  it  up  with  money,  and  made  a  hole  in  the 
earth  and  buried  it. 

'  And  they  said  over  it,  "  No  one  may  disturb  you  till 
one  comes  who  makes  an  omelette  with  just  the  same 
sweet-scented  herbs  as  we  have  used,  and  makes  it  just  on 
the  top  of  this  hole.  Then,  come  out  and  say,  «  This  gold 
is  yours.' " 

'  And,  of  course,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  no 
one  would  have  thought  of  making  an  omelette  with  just 
those  same  herbs,  just  on  the  top  of  that  hole.  But  there 
was  one  who  knew  the  other  two,  and  suspected  something 
of  what  they  were  going  to  do,  and  he  went  up  and  hid 
himself  in  a  tree,  and  watched  all  that  was  done,  and 
heard  the  words. 

'  As  soon  as  they  were  gone  he  came  down  and  took 
some  nice  fresh  eggs,  and  just  the  same  sweet-scented 
herbs  the  others  had  used,  and  made  an  omelette  just 
over  the  hole  where  he  had  seen  them  bury  the  barrel  with 
the  money  and  the  man  in  it. 


282          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

'  He  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  the  man  came  out  all 
whole  and  well,  and  said :  "  Oh,  how  many  years  have  I 
been  shut  up  in  that  dark  place"  (though  he  hadn't  been 
there  half-an-hour)  "  till  you  came  to  deliver  me !  There- 
fore all  the  gold  is  yours." 

'  Such  things  can't  be  true,  so  I  don't  believe  them ; 
but  that's  what  they  tell.' 

12 

4  And  don't  they  tell  other  stories  about  there  being 
treasures  hid  about  Rome  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  and  some  of  them  are  true.     It  is  quite 

certain  that '  (and  she  named  a  very  rich  Eoman 

prince)  <  found  all  the  money  that  makes  him  so  rich 
bricked  up  in  a  wall.  They  were  altering  a  wall,  and  they 
came  upon  some  gold.  It  was  all  behind  a  great  wall,  as 
big  as  the  side  of  a  room — all  full,  full  of  gold.  When  they 
came  and  told  him  he  pretended  not  to  be  at  all  surprised, 
and  said  :  "  Oh,  yes ;  it's  some  money  I  put  away  there ; 
it's  nothing ;  leave  it  alone."  But  in  the  night  he  \vent 
down  secretly  and  fetched  it  away,14  and  that's  how  he 
became  so  rich ;  for  his  father  was  a  money-changer,  who 
had  a  table  where  he  changed  money  in  the  open  street, 
and  my  father  knew  him  quite  well.' 

13 

1  Then  there's  the '  (another  rich  family).    «  They 

got  their  money  by  confiscation  of  another 15  family,  gene- 
rations ago.  That's  why  they're  so  charitable.  What 
they  give  away  in  charity  to  the  poor  is  immense ;  but 
it  is  because  they  know  how  the  money  came  into  the 
family,  and  they  want  to  make  amends  for  their  ancestors.' 

1  '  Ma  che !  '  is  a  very  strong  and  indignant  form  of  '  No ! '  about 
equivalent  to  '  What  are  you  thinking  of  ? '  '  How  can  you  ? '  In  Tuscany 
they  say,  '  Che  !  Che  ! ' 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     283 

2  '  Fantasimi,'  for  '  fantasmi,'  apparitions. 

I  'Spirito.' 

4  '  II  fantasimo  di  S.  Giovanni.' 

*  '  Cacciatore '  is  a  huntsman  or  sportsman  of  any  kind  ;  but  in  Rome 
it  designates  especially  a  man  of  a  roving  and  adrenturous  class  whose 
occupation  in  life  is  to  shoot  game  for  the  market  according  to  the  various 
seasons,  as  there  are  large  tracts  of  country  where  game  is  not  preserved. 

6  '  Falcaccio,'  a  horrid,  great  hawk. 

7  Cancellieri  (Mercato,   §  xvi.)    mentions  the    actual  finding    of  such 
a  treasure ;  or  at  least  of  '  thousands  of  pieces  of  gold  money,  in  a  hole 
leading  to  a  drain  of  the  fountain  in  Piazza  Madama,  on  May  30,  1652,  by 
a  boy  who  had  accidentally  dropped  a  toy  into  this  hole.'     One  such  fact 
would  afford  substance  to  a  multitude  of  such  fictions :  though  they  doubt- 
less had  their  origin  in  the  discovery  of  mineral  wealth. 

8  See  conversation  at  the  end  of  the  '  Serpe  bianca.'     Further  details 
of  a  similar  nature  were  given  me  in  connection  with  a  number  of  brigand 
stories  which  I  have  in  MS. 

9  'Monti,'  Rione  Monti,  the  most  populous  district  in  Rome. 

10  '  Papetto,'  equal  to  two  pauls ;    about  three  halfpence  more  than  a 
(silver)  lira  or  franc.     In  use  in  Rome  until  the  monetary,  convention  with 
France  in  1868. 

II  '  Cataletto,'  a  kind  of  large  roomy  coffin,  with  a  hollow  wagonheaded 
lid,  in  which  dead  or  wounded  persons  are  carried. 

12  '  Barretta '  or  '  bara,'  is  the  bier  on  which  the  '  cataletto '  is  carried  ; 
but  it  is  most  often  made  all  in  one,  and  either  word  is  used  for  either,  as 
also  '  f  eretro.'  '  Aver  la  bocca  sulla  bara,'  is  '  to  have  one  foot  in  the  grave.' 

13  '  Paino,'  see  n.  3,  p.  264. 

14  It  must  be  a  very  quaint  condition  of  mind  which  can  imagine  that 
.a  fortune  of  something  like  three  millions  sterling  can  be  quietly  removed 
in  secret  in  gold  coin  from  a  cellar  to  a  bedroom  in  the  small  hours  of  the 
night.     But  then  to  persons  like  the  narrator  a  few  pieces  of  gold  seem  a 
fortune. 

14  I  do  not  give  the  names  because,  though  the  tradition  is  probably 
true  enough  of  somebody,  the  particular  names  introduced  were  decidedly 
incorrect  historically. 

[These  treasure  stories  are  common  everywhere.  In  Tirol, 
especially,  they  abound,  and  are  of  two  kinds.  First,  concerning 
treasure  hidden  in  the  earth,  arising  out  of  the  metal  mines  that 
were  formerly  worked  there,  and  the  carbuncles  which  are  still 
found ;  and  the  second,  precisely  like  these,  of  money  walled-up 
in  old  houses  and  castles.  A  countryman,  who  saw  me  sketching 
the  old  ruin  of  Monte  Rufiano,  on  a  height  not  far  from  the 
banks  of  Lake  Thrasimene,  told  me  a  story  about  it,  just  like  a 
Tirolese  story,  of  treasure  hidden  ever  eo  deep  under  it,  a.n.d 


284          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

guarded  by  twelve  spectres,  who  went  about,  carrying  torches  in 
procession,  on  a  Good  Friday. 

Senhor  de  Saraiva  tells  me  there  is  a  great  variety  of  such 
stories  in  Portugal,  where  the  treasures  are  generally  said  to  have 
been  hidden  by  the  Moors,  and  are  supposed  to  be  buried  under 
a  gigantic  depth  of  rock.  A  place  was  once  pointed  out  to  him, 
where  there  were  said  to  be  two  enormous  jars,  one  full  of  gold, 
and  the  other  of  boiling  pitch.  If,  in  digging,  a  man  came  upon 
the  right  one,  he  would  be  rich  enough  to  buy  up  the  whole 
world ;  but  if,  by  ill  luek,  his  spade  first  reached  the  other,  the 
pitch  would  overflow  and  destroy  everyone  on  the  face  of  the 
earth ;  so  that  no  one  dared  to  make  the  attempt.  The  people 
believe  that  such  localities  may  be  revealed  to  them  in  dreams. 
But  they  must  dream  the  same  dream  three  nights  running,  and 
not  tell  it  to  anyone.  If  they  tell  it,  they  will  find  the  money  all 
turned  to  charcoal.  Brick  boxes  of  charcoal  have  frequently 
been  found  buried  under  Roman  boundary  stones  in  Portugal, 
and  in  this,  he  thinks,  lies  the  origin  of  this  latter  fancy. 

It  is  remarkable  how  many  odds  and  ends  of  history  remain 
laid  up  in  the  memories  of  the  Roman  people,  like  the  majolica 
vases  and  point-lace  in  their  houses.  A  great  favourite  with  them 
is  the  story  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  which  they  tell,  under  the  name 
of  '  La  bella  Cenci,'  with  more  or  less  exaggeration  of  detail. 

'  Do  you  know  the  story  of  "  Sciarra  Colonna  ?  " '  said  an  old 
woman,  who  seemed  scarcely  a  person  likely  to  know  much  about 
such  matters.] 

1 

SCIARRA   COLONNA. 

THERE  were  two  of  the  Colonna.  One  was  Sciarra;  I 
don't  know  the  name  of  the  other.  They  were  always 
fighting  against  the  pope  of  their  time.1  At  last  they 
took  him  and  shut  him  up  in  a  tower  in  the  Campagna, 
and  kept  him  there  till  they  had  starved  him  to  death  ; 
and  when  the  people  found  him  afterwards,  what  do  you 
think  ? — in  his  extremity  he  had  gnawed  off  all  the  tips  of 
his  fingers. 

When  these  two  Colonna  found   they   had   actually 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c.     285 

killed  a  Pope,  they  got  so  frightened  that  they  ran  away 
to  hide  themselves.  They  ran  away  to  France,  to  Paris, 
and  at  last,  when  all  the  money  they  were  able  to  carry 
with  them  was  spent,  they  were  obliged  to  take  a  place  as 
stablemen  in  the  king's  palace,  and  they  washed  the 
carriages  and  cleaned  down  the  horses  like  common  men. 
But  they  couldn't  hide  that  they  were  great  lords ;  the 
people  saw  there  was  something  different  from  themselves 
about  them,  and  they  watched  them,  and  saw  that  they 
waited  on  each  other  alternately  every  day  at  table,  and 
you  could  see  what  great  ceremony  they  were  used  to. 
Then  other  things  were  seen,  I  forget  what  now,  but  little 
by  little,  and  by  one  thing  and  another,  people  suspected 
at  last  who  they  really  were. 

Then  some  one  went  and  told  the  king  of  France, 
and  he  had  them  called  up  before  him. 

They  came  just  as  they  were,  in  their  stable  clothes, 
wooden  shoes  a  and  all. 

The  king  sat  to  receive  them  in  a  raised  seat  hung 
all  round  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  he  said  : 

'  Now,  I  know  one  thing.  You  two  are  hiding  from 
justice.  Who  you  are  I  don't  know  exactly  for  certain. 
I  believe  you  are  the  Colonna.  If  you  confess  you  are  the 
Colonna,  I  will  make  the  affair  straight  for  you  ;  but,  if 
you  will  not  say,  then  I  will  have  you  shut  up  in  prison 
till  I  find  out  who  you  are,  and  what  you  have  done.' 

Then  they  owned  that  they  were  the  Colonna,3  and 
the  king  sent  an  ambassador  to  the  Pope  that  then  was, 
and  the  thing  was  arranged,  and  after  a  time  they  came 
back  to  Borne. 

1  Litta,  '  Storia  delle  Famiglie  italiane,'  traces  that  from  the  beginning 
the  Colonna  family  was  always  Ghibeline.      The  present  representatives  of 
the  house,  however,  are  reckoned  Papalini. 

2  '  Zoccolo,'  a  wooden  sandal  kept  on  the  foot  by  a  leather  strap  over  the 
instep.     It  is  worn  by  certain  '  scalsi '  or  '  barefooted '  friars,  hence  called 
by  the  people  '  zoccolanti.'     The  street  near  Ponte  Sisto  in  Rome,  called 
Via  delle  Zoccolette,  received  its  name  from  a  convent  of  nuns  there  who 
also  wore  '  zoccoli.' 


286          Ghost  and  Treasiire  Stories,  &c. 

3  That  Sciarra  Colonna  beaded  a  band  of  'spadassini '  against  Boniface 
VIII.,  and  made  himself  the  tool  of  Philippe  le  Bel,  is  of  course  true  to 
history,  as  also  that  he  held  him  imprisoned  for  a  time  at  Anagni.  The 
Pontiff's  biographer,  Tosti,  mentions  however  only  to  refute  them, '  le  favole 
Ferretiane,'  to  which  Sismondi, '  Storia  delle  Republiche  italiane,'  gives  cur- 
rency, and  which  embody  the  floating  tradition  in  the  text.  '  Ferreto  da 
Vicenza,'  writes  Tosti,  '  narrates  that  a  kind  of  poison  was  administered  to 
this  great  Pontiff,  which  put  him  in  a  state  of  phrenzy ;  the  servant  who 
waited  on  him,  also,  was  sent  away,  and  being  left  alone  in  the  room  he  is 
supposed  to  have  gnawed  at  a  stick  (in  another  allusion  to  the  same  fable — 
at  page  293 — he  says,  'his  fingers'  as  in  the  text),  and  struck  his  head 
against  the  wall  so  desperately  that  his  white  hairs  were  all  stained  with 
blood  ;  finally,  that  he  suffocated  himself  under  the  counterpane  invoking 
Beelzebub.  But  when  we  think  how  Boniface  arrived  at  extreme  old  age, 
enfeebled  with  reverses  ;  how,  shut  up  in  a  room  alone,  there  was  no  one 
to  be  witness  to  the  alleged  gnawing  and  knocking  and  Satanic  invocations, 
and  how  that  the  manner  of  his  death  was  quite  differently  related  by  eye- 
witnesses, I  do  not  know  for  whom  Sismondi  could  have  thought  he  was 
writing  when  he  marred  his  history  by  inserting  such  a  fable.  What  cer- 
tainly happened,  and  it  is  certified  by  Cardinal  Stefaneschi,  who  was  present, 
and  by  the  Keport  afterwards  drawn  up  of  the  acts  of  Boniface — was,  that 
'  he  was  lodged  in  the  Vatican  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  breathed  his  last 
tranquilly.  The  bed  of  the  dying  Pontiff  was  surrounded  by  eight  car- 
dinals and  by  other  distinguished  persons  (Process.  Bonif.  p.  37,  p.  1 5),  to 
whom,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  predecessors,  he  made  confession  of 
faith,  affirming,  however  enfeebled  his  voice,  that  he  had  lived  in  that  faith, 
and  wished  to  die  in  it,  a  Catholic.  Consoled  with  the  Viaticum  of  the  Sacra- 
ments he  gave  up  his  soul  to  God,  weary  with  the  prolonged  struggle  he 
had  sustained  for  the  rights  of  the  Church,  .  .  .  thirty-five  days  after  his 
imprisonment  at  Anagni'  (vol.  ii.  p.  286-7).  Platina  goes  into  less  detail, 
but  also  records  that  he  died  in  Rome  (Le  vite  de'  Pontefici,  Venice,  1674, 
p.  344).  The  magnanimous  stedfastness  evinced  by  Boniface  when  attacked 
by  Colonna  and  Nogaret,  all  abandoned  as  he  was  by  human  aid  (detailed 
by  Tosti,  p.  276,  et  seq.),  could  not  but  have  been  succeeded  by  a  grander 
closing  scene  than  that  imagined  by  Ferreto.  Maroni  (vi.  17-18)  not  only 
narrates  that  he  survived  the  Anagni  affair  to  return  to  Rome,  but  that 
with  great  Christian  charity  he  ordered  Nogaret,  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  by  the  Romans  in  the  meantime,  to  be  released  from  confinement ; 
and  [xiv.  283]  that  he  could  have  had  no  poison  administered  to  him  at 
Anagni,  for  all  the  time  he  was  imprisoned  he  would  eat  nothing  but  eggs 
on  purpose  to  be  proof  against  it.'  The  best  disproof  of  the  story,  how- 
ever, is  that  given  by  Tosti  (p.  296-7).  In  the  clearing  for  the  rebuilding 
of  the  nave  of  St.  Peter's,  302  years  after  the  death  of  Boniface,  his  sep- 
ulchre was  opened  and  the  grave  then  revealed  the  truth.  It  so  happened 
that  his  body  had  scarcely  undergone  any  change,  and  those  who  stood  by 
could  hence  depose  that  both  his  head  and  his  hands  were  quite  perfect ; 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Tr easier e  Stories,  &c.     287 

there  were  no  marks  or  blows  on  the  former,  and  so  far  from  his  finger-tips 
being  gnawed,  they  noticed  that  the  nails  even  were  particularly  long.  The 
face  also  wore  a  peculiarly  placid  expression. 

Several  contemporary  writers  cited  by  Tosti  tell,  however,  that  Benedict 
XI,,  Boniface's  successor,  died  of  poison  believed  to  have  been  administered 
by  Sciarra  Colonna  at  the  instigation  of  Philippe  le  Bel.  But  unfortu- 
nately for  the  tradition  in  the  text  Moroni  [xiv.  283],  who  also  mentions 
this,  adds  that  Sciarra  Colonna  died  in  exile  as  he  deserved.  The  two  Car- 
dinals Colonna,  however,  who  had  been  exiled  with  the  rest  of  the  family, 
were  reinstated  by  Benedict  XI.,  and  Clement  V.  in  1305  restored  the 
other  members  of  it  to  their  possessions  in  the  Roman  States,  where  they 
made  themselves  obnoxious  enough  during  the  Papal  residence  at  Avignon, 
and  were  as  hostile  to  Kienzi  as  they  had  ever  been  to  the  Popes. 

2 
DONNA    OLIMPIA. 

THE  vices  of  the  rich  are  never  forgotten  "by  the  people, 
and  the  traditions  that  still  are  current  in  Eome  about 
Donna  Olimpia  *  are  such  that  I  have  had  to  refuse  to 
listen  to  them.  But  I  feel  bound  to  mention  them  here, 
because  it  is  curious  that  they  should  so  live  on  for  more 
than  two  hundred  years  (the  traditions  of  Sciarra  Colonna, 
however,  are  six  hundred  years  old).  They  have,  doubt- 
less, rather  gained  than  lost  in  transmission.  Cardinal 
Camillo  Pamfili,  Donna  Olimpia's  son,  presents  one  of 
those  rare  instances  of  which  history  has  only  five  or  six 
in  all  to  record,  in  which,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up 
the  succession  to  a  noble  or  royal  house,  it  has  been  per- 
mitted 2  to  leave  the  ecclesiastical  state  for  married  life.3 
The  singularity  of  this  incident  has  impressed  it  in 
the  memory  of  the  people,  and  her  promotion  of  it  has 
contributed  to  magnify,  not  only  the  fantastic  element  in 
their  narratives,  but  also  the  popular  feeling  against  her ; 
thus  she  is  accused  of  having  had  a  second  object  in  pro- 
moting it,  namely,  to  get  the  place  in  the  pontifical  house- 
hold thus  vacated  filled  by  a  very  simple4  nephew,  and 
thus  increase  her  own  importance  at  the  papal  court. 
The  pasquinades  written  about  her  in  her  own  age  were 


288          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

such  that  Cancellieri5  tells  us  '  spies  were  set,  dressed  in 
silk  attire,  to  discover  the  authors  of  such  lampoons  (motti 
vituperosi).' 

1  Donna  Olimpia  Pamfili,  nata  Maidalchini,  wife   of  the  brother   of 
Innocent  X. 

2  Cancellieri  Mercato,  §  Lx.  note  7. 

*  He  had  not,  however,  been  originally  intended  for  the  Church ;  had 
been  General  of  the  Pontifical  forces  before  he  was  Cardinal,  and  was  only 
in  Deacon's  orders. 

4  His  simplicity  was  the  subject  of  many  contemporary  mots  and  anec- 
dotes ;  e.g.  at  the  time  of  his  elevation  to  the  purple  the  Pasquin  statue  had 
been  temporarily  lost  to  view  by  a  hoarding  put  up  for  the  erection  of  a 
neighbouring  palace  ;  '  Marforio '  was  supposed  to  express  his  condolence 
for  the  eclipse  of  his  rival  in'  the  following  distich  : 

'  Non  piangere  Pasquino 
Che  sara  tuo  compagno  Maidalchino.' 

His  want  of  capacity  seems  however  to  have  been  compensated  by  his  good- 
ness of  heart. 

*  Cancellieri  Mercato,  §  viii.     As  I  have  been  desirous  to  put  nothing 
in  the  text  but  what  has  reached  myself  by  verbal  tradition,  I  will  add 
some  no  less  interesting  details  collected  by  Cancellieri,  in  this  place. 

It  was  at  her  house  in  Piazza  Navona  that  Bernini  was  rehabilitated  in 
his  character  of  first  sculptor  and  architect  of  his  time.  '  Papa  Pamfili,' 
though  only  the  son  of  a  tailor,1  was  yet  a  patron  of  art.  Highly  famed 
tinder  Urban  VIII.  the  preceding  Pontiff,  Bernini  had  been  misrepresented 
by  his  rivals  to  Innocent.  In  an  unpublished  Diary  of  Giacinto  Gigli, 
Cancellieri  finds  that  he  was  taken  so  seriously  ill  on  St.  Peter's  Day,  1641  2 
that  his  life  was  for  some  time  despaired  of,  in  consequence  of  his  Campa- 
nile— a  specimen  one  of  two  he  had  designed  for  St.  Peter's — being  dis- 
approved by  the  Pope  and  ordered  to  be  taken  down.  Another  cognate 
tradition  he  gives  from  a  MS.  Diary  of  Valerio  is,  that  in  digging  the 
foundations  for  this  tower  a  '  canale  d'acqua '  was  discovered  deeper  than 
the  bed  of  the  Tiber  and  wide  enough  to  go  on  it  in  a  boat;  Mgr.  Costaguti, 
maggiordomo  of  his  Holiness,  told  me  about  it  himself,  and  he  had  had  him- 

1  A  certain  Niccolo  Caferri  was  much  ridiculed  for  the  spirit  of  adulation 
with  which  he  pretended  to  trace  up  Innocent  X.'s  genealogy  to  Pamphilus, 
king  of  Doris,  300  years  before  the  birth  of  Rome.    But  the  Pope  himself  was 
so  little  ashamed  of  his  origin  that  Cancellieri  tells  us  he  took  a  piece  of  cloth 
for  one  of  his  armorial  bearings  in  memory  of  it. 

2  This  date,  however,  must  be  incorrect,  as  Innocent  X.  only  began  to  reign 
in  1644.    This  grandiose  Campanile  is  described  at  length,  and  a  plate  of  it 
given  in  Fontana, '  Descrizione  del  tempio  Vaticano,'  p.  262,  et  seq.    It  was  360 
ft.  in  height. 


Smaller  Ghost  and  Treasure  S lories,  &c.     289 

self  let  down  to  see  it.  As  it  had  a  sandy  bottom,  it  washed  away  the  founda- 
tions of  the  tower,  and  rendered  it  impossible  to  leave  it  standing.  The  water 
came  from  Anguillara '  (on  Lake  Bracciano,  about  28  miles)  '  and  the  Pope 
had  the  old  conduit  reconstructed  and  used  the  water  for  many  fountains 
in  imitation  of  Sixtus  V.1  He  goes  on  to  add  an  extraordinary  account 
of  a  Dragon  quite  of  the  legendary  type,  that  was  found  in  charge  of  this 
water,  and  was  killed,  not  by  a  hero  or  a  knight,  but,  by  the  labourers 
working  at  the  conduit. 

It  was  Innocent  X.'s  ambition  to  remove  the  great  obelisk  (since 
called  '  Obelisco  Pamfilio  ')  which  lay  in  three  pieces  in  the  Circo  di  Mas- 
senzio,  near  the  Appian  Way,  and  to  set  it  up  in  Piazza  Navona.  Bernini 
being,  as  I  have  said,  in  disfavour,  other  architects  were  commissioned  to 
offer  designs  for  the  work ;  but  the  Pope  was  not  satisfied  with  any  of  them, 
and  the  matter  stood  over.  Meantime  Piombino  (Niccolo  Ludovisi)  who, 
had  married  a  niece  of  the  Pope's,  and  who  was  a  great  friend  of  Bernini, 
privately  instructed  him  to  send  him  a  model  of  what  he  would  suggest  for 
the  purpose,  saying  he  wanted  it  for  his  own  satisfaction,  lest  Bernini  should 
refuse  the  unauthorised  competition.  Bernini  then  produced  the  elaborate 
conception  which  has  been  so  warmly  extolled  by  some  and  so  hastily  blamed 
by  others,  but  which  cannot  be  judged  without  a  prolonged  study  of  all  the 
poetical  allegories  and  conceits  it  was  his  intention  to  embody. 

The  Pope  went  to  the  house  of  Donna  Olimpia  in  Piazza  Navona  to 
dine  after  the  Procession  to  the  Minerva  on  the  Annunciation,2  and  she 
placed  the  model  in  a  room  through  which  the  Pope  must  pass  after  dinner. 
It  did  not  fail  to  arrest  his  notice,  and  he  was  so  much  struck  with  it  that 
he  spent  half  an  hour  examining  it  in  detail  and  listening  to  the  explana- 
tion of  its  emblematical  devices.  At  last  he  exclaimed,  '  It  can  be  by  no 
other  hand  than  Bernini's !  and  he  must  be  employed  in  spite  of  all  that 
may  be  said  against  him ! '  From  that  time  Bernini  was  once  more  all 
that  he  had  been  before  in  Eome  (Mercato,  §  ix.).  When  Innocent  saw 
the  great  work  completed,  and  the  water  of  the  four  rivers  for  the  first  time 
gushing  from  it,  he  declared  to  Bernini  he  had  given  him  pleasure  great 
enough  to  add  ten  years  to  his  life  ;  and  he  sent  over  to  Donna  Olimpia  for 
a  hundred  '  Doppie ' s  to  distribute  among  the  workmen.  Subsequently  he 
had  a  medal  struck  with  the  inscription  AGONALTOM  CKUOHE  ABLUTO  AQUA 
VEBGINE,  in  allusion  to  the  games  of  which  Piazza  Navona  is  supposed  4 
to  have  been  the  scene,  and  the  '  Vergine'  aqueduct  from  which  the  foun- 
tains were  supplied.  '  Papa  Pamfili '  also  restored  St.  John  Lateran,  and 

1  He  does  not  specify  what  pope,  and  the  wording  used  seems  to  imply 
Innocent  X.,  but  this  aqueduct  is  always  ascribed  to  Paul  V.,  twenty  years 
earlier,  and  is  called  the  Acqua  Paola. 

2  Described  in  Cancellieri,  '  Descrizione  delle  Cappelle  Ponteficie,'  cap.  x. 

3  In  Melohiorri's  table  of  Roman  moneys  he  gives  the  value  (in  1758,  a  hun- 
dred years  later)  of  a  doppio  as  4  scudi  40  bajocchi ;  and  of  a  doppia  at  6  scudi, 
42  bajocchi.     It  appears  to  be  the  latter  the  Pope  sent  for. 

4  Dyer  says  it  was  the  Stadium  of  Domitiau,  and  Becker,  that  there  is  no 
proof  it  was  ever  a  circus. 

U 


290          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

undertook  many  other  works,  but  was  somewhat  hampered  by  the  discontent 
of  the  people  at  the  expense,  expressed  in  the  following  pasquinades : 

•  Noi  volemo  altro  che  guglie  e  fontane  : 

Pane  volemo,  pane !  pane !  pane ! ' 
and 

'  Ut  lapides  isti  panes  fiant ! ' 

To  return  to  Donna  Olimpia.  One  of  the  pasquinades  on  her  preserved 
in  Cancellieri  from  Gigli's  diary,  refers  to  an  accusation  against  her,  that 
she  had  been  very  liberal  both  to  religious  communities  and  to  the  people 
until  her  brother-in-law  *  was  made  Pope,  and  that  when  that  object  was 
attained  she  ceased  her  bounty.  Pasquin  wrote  \ipon  this,  '  Donna  Olimpia 
'  fuerat  olim  pia,  nunc  impia.' 

Another  declared  that  the  said  brother-in-law  '  Olympian!  potius  quam 
Olympum  respicere  videbatur,'  an  accusation  he  declares  to  have  been  in- 
vented solely  for  the  sake  of  punning,  and  without  any  truth,  on  faith  of 
the  character  given  him  by  his  biographers,  and  of  the  fact  that  he  was  more 
than  seventy-one  when  raised  to  the  Papacy,  and  so  deformed  and  ugly  that 
Guido  put  his  portrait  under  the  feet  of  the  archangel  in  his  famous  picture 
of  St.  Michael.  (Mercato,  Appendix,  n.  4  to  N.  x.)  She  was,  however, 
sometimes  inexcusable  in  her  haughty  caprices,  as,  for  instance,  when 
she  invited  five  and  twenty  Eoman  ladies  to  see  a  pageant,  and  then 
asked  only  eight  of  them  to  sit  down  to  table  with  her,  leaving  the  re- 
mainder 'mortificate  alle  finestre  ; '  and  frequently  more  free  than  choice  in 
her  mots.  Her  grandchildren  seem  to  have  inherited  this  freedom  of 
speech;  Gigli  (quoted  by  Cancellieri,  Mercato  §  xvi.  and  xx.)  records  in 
his  Diary  that  the  eldest  of  them,  Giambattista,  being  asked  one  day  by 
the  Pope,  who  took  great  notice  of  him,  if  he  had  seen  St.  Agnese  in  Piazza 
Navona,  which  he  was  then  building,  replied  (though  only  seven  years  old), 
'  I  have  not  seen  it  yet ;  but  you,  if  you  don't  make  haste,  won't  live  to  see 
it  completed.'  It  would  seem  to  have  been  a  popular  prophecy  which  the 
child  had  caught  up,  and  it  so  happens  that  the  event  bore  it  out. 

There  is  nothing,  however,  which  shows  the  heartless  character  of  Donna 
Olimpia  more  glaringly  than  her  refusal  to  pay  a  farthing  to  bury  the  Pope, 
alleging  she  was  'only  a  poor  widow! '  and  this,  though  the  Pope  had  not 
only  •  favoured  her  so  much  as  to  endanger  his  reputation,' 2  but  had  handed 
to  her  all  his  disposable  property  on  his  deathbed.  Donna  Olimpia 
so  utterly  abandoned  his  body  that  it  was  carried  down  into  a  lumber- 
room  where  workmen  kept  their  tools,  and  one  poor  labourer  had  the 
charity  to  buy  a  tallow  candle  to  burn  beside  it,  and  another  paid  some  one 
to  watch  it,  to  keep  the  mice  off  which  abounded  there.  Finally,  a  Mgr. 

1  Cancellieri  calls  Innocent  her  cognato,  and  cognate  in  common  conversation 
now  is  used  for  a  cousin.    Bazzarini  explains  it 'as  'any  relationship  by  mar- 
riage.' 

2  MS.  life  of  his  successor  Alex.  VII.  by  Card.  Pallavicini,  quoted  by  Novaes : 
Storia  de'  Sommi  Pontefici,  x.  61. 


The  Munificence  of  Prince  Borghese.       291 

Scotti,  his  maggiordomo,  paid  for  a  coffin  of  '  albuecio,' '  and  a  former 
maggiordomo,  whom  he  had  dispossessed,  gave  five  scudi  (returning  good 
for  evil)  to  pay  the  expenses  of  burying  him.  It  was  not  till  twelve  years 
later  that  he  had  a  fitting  funeral  in  S.  Maria  dell'  Anima. 

When  a  few  months  after  Innocent's  death  Donna  Olimpia  endeavoured 
to  put  herself  on  her  old  footing  at  the  Vatican  Court,  by  sending  a  valu- 
able present  of  some  gold  vases  to  Alexander  VII.,  that  Pope  testified  his 
appreciation  of  her  by  returning  her  offering  ;  adding  the  message  that  she 
was  not  to  take  the  trouble  to  visit  his  palace,  as  it  was  no  place  for 
women.2  There  was  subsequently  some  angry  correspondence  between  h^r 
and  this  Pope  concerning  the  delajs  occasioned  by  her  parsimony  in  com- 
pleting the  church  in  Piazza  Navona,  and  the  consequent  obstruction  of  the 
Piazza,  a  great  inconvenience  to  the  public  on  account  of  its  use  as  a 
market-place.  Finally  he  banished  her  from  Rome,  fixing  her  residence  at 
Orvieto,  where  she  fell  a  victim  to  the  plague  two  years  after. 

Her  palace  in  Piazza  Navona  became  in  1695  the  residence  of  Lord 
Castlemaine,  ambassador  of  James  II.  to  the  Holy  See.  He  had  an  ox 
roasted  whole  before  it,  and  other  bounties  distributed  to  the  people  oa 
occasion  of  the  birth  of  '  The  Pretender.' 


THE  MUNIFICENCE  OF  PRINCE  BORGHESE^ 

[If  the  Romans  remember  the  vices  of  their  princely  families, 
they  are  proud  of  storing  up  the  memory  of  their  virtues  too  ; 
and  the  following  narrative  was  told  me  with  great  enthusiasm.} 

LIBERALITY  is  a  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the  Bor- 
ghese  family.  It  was  always  a  matter  of  emulation  .who 
should  get  taken  into  their  service,  and  no  one  who  was 
once  placed  there  ever  let  himself  be  sent  away  again,  it 
was  too  good  a  thing  to  lose. 

There  was  a  man-servant,  however,  once  who  gave  the 
Prince,  I  think  it  was  the  father  of  this  one,  an  insolent 
answer,  and  he  turned  him  off. 

No  one  would  take  that  man.  Wherever  he  applied, 
when  they  asked  him,  '  Where  have  you  lived  ?  '  and  he 
answered,  ' 'in  casa  BorgheseJ  everyone  answered,  'Oh, 
if  you  couldn't  live  with  Borghese,  I'm  sure  I've  nothing 

1  Nothing  better  than  deal,  I  believe. 

2  Mercato,  §  xxi. 

TJ  2 


292          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  £fc. 

better  to  offer  you ! '  and  the  door  was  shut  in  his  face. 
It  wasn't  in  one  place  or  two,  but  everywhere,  Borghese's 
character  is  so  well  known  in  Kome.  As  he  couldn't  get 
a  place,  however,  he  was  reduced  to  near  starvation,  and 
he  had  a  wife  and  six  children,  all  with  nothing  to  eat. 
Every  article  of  furniture  went  to  the  Monte  di  Pieta, 
and  almost  every  article  of  clothing;  and  yet  hunger 
stared  them  in  the  face. 

Then  the  man  got  desperate,  and  he  went  out  one 
night  and  waited  for  Borghese  in  a  lonely  street  in  the 
dark,  with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  and  said,  '  Your  purse ! ' 

Borghese  thought  he  had  a  gang  behind  him,  round 
the  corner,  and  handed  him  his  purse.  But  the  man  only 
took  out  three  pauls  and  gave  it  back,  and  he  looked  so 
thin  and  haggard  that  Borghese  could  not  but  notice  it, 
dark  as  it  was,  though  he  had  forgotten  his  face. 

'  That  is  not  a  thief,  he  is  some  poor  fellow  who 
wants  relief,'  said  Borghese  to  his  servant.  '  Gro  after 
him  and  see  what  he  does,  but  take  care  not  to  be  seen,' 
and  he  walked  home  alone.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
the  servant  came  back.  He  had  seen  him  spend  the  three 
pauls  in  food  ;  had  seen  him  take  it  home  to  his  family  ; 
had  seen  them  scarcely  covered  with  rags ;  had  seen  the 
room  denuded  of  furniture  ;  had  heard  the  man  say,  as  he 
put  the  food  on  the  table,  '  Here  is  wherewith  to  keep 
you  alive  another  day,  and  to-morrow  1  die  in  sin,  for  I 
had  to  steal  it.' 

Then  Borghese  called  up  the  steward  (Maestro  di 
Casa),  and  told  him  to  go  to  the  house  and  find  out  who 
the  man  was,  and  leave  them  what  was  wanted  for  the 
night. 

The  steward  did  as  he  was  told,  and  left  a  scudo  that 
the  man  might  get  a  supper  without  eating  stolen  food, 
but  without  saying  who  sent  him,  for  he  had  learnt  by  his 
inquiries  that  he  was  the  servant  whom  Borghese  had  sent 
away. 


Pope  Joan.  293 

The  next  day  Borghese  sent  and  clothed  all  the  family  ; 
furnished  their  place  again  for  them  ;  put  the  children  to 
schools,  and  gave  the  parents  ten  scudi  a  month.  He 
wouldn't  take  the  man  back,  having  once  had  to  send  him 
away — for  that  was  his  rule — but  he  gave  him  a  pension 
for  the  rest  of  his  life. 


IPOPE  JOAN: 

'  You  know,  of  course,  that  there  was  once  a  Papessa  ? 
They  have  put  that  in  the  books,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  I  know  there  is  such  a  story,  but  learned  writers  have 
proved  it  was  a  mere  invention. 

4  Well,  I  daresay  it  isn't  true ;  but  there's  no  one  in 
Rome  who  has  not  heard  of  it.  And  what  makes  them 
believe  it  is  this.1  Outside  of  St.  Peter's  somewhere 
there's  a  statue  of  her  all  among  the  apostles  and  saints ; 
and  they  say  it's  because  a  Pope  must  have  a  statue,  and 
they  didn't  dare  to  put  hers  inside  the  church,  so  they 
put  it  up  outside.  And  if  it  isn't  a  Papessa,  what  is  a 
woman's  statue  doing  there,  for  it  wasn't  the  Madonna, 
that's  certain  ? ' 

'  Oh  !  that's  a  statue  of  Religion,  or  the  Church.2  There 
never  was  a  woman-pope.' 

'  Ah,  well !  you  read  books.  I  dare  say  you  know 
best ;  but,  anyhow,  that's  what  they  say.  And,  after  all, 
who  knows  I ' 

1  An  argument  worthy  to  take  rank  beside  the  famous   one  of  '  Mrs. 
Brown  '  concerning  Noah's  Ark. 

2  I  said  this,  really  thinking  at  the  moment  there  was  such  a  statue 
surmounting  the  apex  of  the  pediment  of  the  fa9<ide ;  but  it  afterwards  came 
to  mind  and  I  have  since  verified  it  on  the  spot,  that  the  statues  on  the 
pediment  represent  the  twelve  Apostles  with  Christ  in  the  centre,  and  there 
is  no  female  figure  there.    Among  the  numerous  statues  of  saints  surmount- 
ing the  colonnade,  are  a  small  proportion  of  female  saints,  but  no  one  at 
all  prominent. 


294          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories, 


GIACINTA  MARESCOTTI. 

THEEE  was  a  prince  Marescotti,1  who  had  two  daughters, 
Cecilia  and  Giacinta.  From  her  childhood  Cecilia  had 
always  been  gentle  and  pious,  and  everyone  said,  '  When 
she  grows  up  she  will  be  a  nun.'  Giacenta  was  proud, 
handsome,  and  passionate,  and  everyone  said,  '  She  will 
be  a  leader  of  society,  and  woe  betide  whoso  offends  her.' 

But  their  father,  good  man,2  knew  them  better,  and 
one  day  he  announced  to  them  the  choice  of  a  state  of 
life  which  he  had  made  for  them ;  for  the  pious,  gentle 
Cecilia  there  was  a  great  lord  coming  from  abroad  to 
make  her  his  wife ;  but  the  proud,  passionate  Giacinta 
was  to  enter  a  convent. 

The  one  was  as  dismayed  as  the  other  at  the  time, 
though  the  event  showed  he  had  chosen  right.  Cecilia, 
who  loved  quiet  and  repose,  tenderly  entreated  her  father 
to  let  her  off  the  anxieties  and  responsibilities  of  becoming 
the  head  of  a  great  family,  while  Giacinta  made  a  great 
noise  3  at  the  idea  of  her  beauty  and  talents  being  laid  up 
hidden  in  a  nun's  cell.  Nevertheless,  in  those  days  long 
gone  by,  girls  were  used  to  obey.4  Cecilia  married  and 
proved  herself  an  exemplary  wife  and  mother,  and  carried 
respect  for  religion  wherever  she  went. 

Giacinta,  on  the  other  hand,  took  all  her  worldly  state 
into  her  convent  with  her ;  her  cell  was  furnished  like  the 
drawing-room  of  a  palace,  and  she  insisted  on  having  her 
maids  to  wait  on  her ;  the  other  nuns  she  scarcely  spoke 
to,  and  treated  as  the  dust  under  her  feet. 

One  day  the  bishop  came  to  visit  the  convent.  '  What 
a  smell!'5  he  said,  as  he  passed  the  cell  of  Giacinta 
Marescotti. 

'  A  smell,  indeed  !  In  my  cell  which  is  not  only  the 
sweetest  in  the  convent,  but  which  is  the  only  one  fit  to 
go  into  ! '  exclaimed  poor  Giacinta  in  deep  indignation. 
'  What  can  you  possibly  mean  by  "  a  smell !  " ' 


Giacinta  Marescotti.  295 

'A  smell  of  sin ! '  responded  the  bishop ;  and  it  was 
observed  that  for  a  wonder  Griacinta  made  no  retort. 

'  A  smell  of  sin,'  said  Griacinta  to  herself,  as  she  sat 
alone  in  her  elegant  and  luxurious  cell  that  night.  The 
words  had  touched  her  soul  and  awakened  a  train  of 
thoughts  latent  and  undisturbed  till  then.  Always  hitherto 
she  had  ambitioned  the  loftiest,  most  refined  objects  of 
research,  and  thought  she  knew  the  secret  of  attaining 
them.  The  bishop's  words  spoke  to  her  of  there  being  '  a 
more  excellent  way '  yet.  They  cast  a  light  upon  a  higher 
path  than  that  which  she  was  treading,  and  revealed  to 
her  that  those  who  walked  along  it,  lowly  as  they  might 
seem,  could  afford  to  look  down  upon  hers. 

She  saw  that  those  who  despised  distinctions  were 
grander  than  those  who  courted  them,  to  become,  in  the 
end,  their  slaves ;  that  those  who  aspired  to  celestial  joys 
were  nobler  than  those  who  surrounded  themselves  with 
the  most  exquisite  luxuries  of  earth.6 

From  that  day,  little  by  little,7  Giacinta's  cell  grew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  pattern  of  the  House  of  Nazareth. 
The  mirror,  the  cosmetics,  and  the  easy  couch  made  way 
for  the  crucifix,  the  discipline,  and  the  penitential  chain.8 
From  having  been  shunned  as  a  type  of  worldliness,  she 
became  to  her  whole  order  a  model  of  humility  and 
mortification.9 

1  The  Marescotti  were  a  noble  family  of  Bologna,  the  second  city  of  the 
Pontifical  Dominions ;  there  were  two  cardinals  of  the  name. 

2  '  II  buon  uomo  di  loro  padre.' 

*  '  Faceva  il  diavolo,'  lit.  '  raised  the  devil.' 

4  '  In  quei  tempi  antichi  ubbedirono  le  figlie,  capisce.'     '  Capisce,'  lit. 
understand,'  equivalent  to  '  you  see.' 

4  '  Puzza — puzza  di  peccato ! '     Lit.  '  It  stinks — it  stinks  of  sin.'     (See 
n.  5,  p.  13.) 

•  I  give  the  story,  as  near  as  possible,  in  the  words  which  the  pious 
faith  of  the  narrator  prompted  her  to  use.     The  success  of  the  final  results 
of  a  measure  may  prove  that  what  seemed  tyranny  was  really  prudent  fore- 
sight; the  contemporary  views  of  parental  responsibility  must  also  be  taken 
into  account.     But  it  is  impossible  for  the  modern  English  mind  to  sympa- 
thise readily  with  so  violent  an  interference  with  natural  instincts. 


295          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

1  '  A.  mano,  a  mano.' 

9  '  Catenella,'  lit.  '  little  chain,'  an  instrument  of  penance  worn  by  some 
persons  on  the  arm  or  waist. 

9  The  following  are  briefly  the  authentic  particulars  of  her  life  from 
Moroni,  xxx.  194.  She  was  daughter  of  Marc  Antonio  Mariscotti  and 
Ottavia  Orsini,  born  in  1585,  and  baptised  by  the  name  of  Clarice.  Although 
brought  up  in  the  fear  of  God  and  led  to  appreciate  holiness,  her  youth  was 
passed  in  worldliness  and  vanity.  Her  younger  sister  having  been  asked 
in  marriage  before  her,  she  was  so  much  vexed  and  annoyed  that  she  became 
insupportable  at  home,  on  which  account  her  father  proposed  to  her  to  be- 
come a  nun  in  the  convent  of  S.  Bernardino  at  Viterbo,  where  she  had  been 
educated,  and  she  adapted  herself  to  his  counsel,  though  without  any  per- 
sonal inclination  for  it.  At  the  end  of  her  noviciate  she  made  her  father 
arrange  that  she  should  have  a  room  of  her  own  magnificently  furnished. 
Sister  Giacinta,  lived  ten  years  thus  a  religious  in  name  but  not  in  mind. 
Nevertheless  she  was  not  without  virtue,  for  she  was  always  obedient  to 
her  superior  as  she  had  been  to  her  parents  ;  and  her  modesty,  purity,  and 
respect  for  holy  things  was  observed  by  all.  A  serious  illness  was  to  her 
the  call  of  grace ;  having  given  up  to  the  abbess  of  the  convent  all  the 
things  that  had  been  brought  in  for  her  use.  by  special  privilege,  she  devoted 
herself  to  severe  penance  and  continual  meditation.  On  occasion  of  a 
contagious  disease  with  which  Viterbo  was  afflicted,  she  gave  abundant 
proof  of  her  charity  towards  her  neighbour,  for  she  founded  two  societies, 
the  object  of  one  of  which  was  to  collect  assistance  for  the  convalescent 
and  those  who  had  fallen  into  reduced  circumstances  ;  the  other  to  support 
a  hospital  built  to  receive  the  sick.  These  two  societies,  which  she  called 
'  Oblatesof  Mary,'  still  continue  (the  date  of  Moroni's  work  is  1845)  in  full 
activity. 


PASQUINO. 


'  No,  I  can't  say  I  remember  any  pasquinades,  not  to 
repeat ;  but  I  know  what  happened  once  when  they  tried 
to  stop  them. 

'  There  had  been  so  many  one  time  that  the  Govern- 
ment put  a  guard  all  round  about  Pasquino  to  watch  and 
see  who  did  it,  but  for  a  long  time  they  saw  no  one. 

'  One  night,  at  last,  a  clownish  countryman  came  by 
with  a  bundle  of  hay  on  his  back,  drivelling  and  half  silly. 
"  Let  me  sit  here  a  bit  to  rest ;  I'm  so  weary  with  carrying 
this  load  I  can't  go  any  farther ;  but  I  won't  do  any  harm." 


Pasquino.  297 

'  The  guards  laughed  at  the  poor  idiot's  simplicity  in 
fancying  they  could  expect  such  as  he  to  be  the  author  of 
the  witty,  pungent  sort  of  wares  they  were  on  the  search 
for,  and  said  with  contemptuous  pity,  "  Yes,  yes ;  you 
may  sit  th°re  ! "  And  the  stupid  old  countryman  sat  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  statue. 

'  "  Heaven  reward  you  for  your  kindness  !  "  he  said, 
when  he  got  up  af£er  half-an-hour's  rest. 

'  "  Don't  mention  it ;  go  in  peace  ! "  returned  the 
guards,  and  the  man  passed  out  of  sight. 

'  Next  morning,  high  over  head  of  Pasquino  floated  a 
gay  paper  balloon. 

'  ".  The  balloon !  the  balloon  ! "  screamed  the  street 
urchins. 

'  "  The  balloon  !  the  balloon  !  "  shouted  a  number  of 
men,  assembled  by  preconcerted  arrangement,  though 
seemingly  passers-by  attracted  by  the  noise. 

'  The  clumsy  clodhopper  of  overnight  was  an  adroit 
fellow  disguised,  and  he  had  attached  the  string  of  the 
balloon  to  the  statue. 

'  To  seize  the  string,  pull  down  the  balloon,  and  burst 
it  was  quick  work ;  but  out  of  it  floated  three  hundred 
and  sixty-six  stinging  pasquinades,  which  were  eagerly 
gathered  up.' 


'  MANY  a  time  a  simple  exterior  is  a  useful  weapon  ; 
but  when  a  man  who  is  really  simple  pretends  to  be  clever 
he  is  soon  found  out.  For  another  time  there  had  been  a 
pasquinade  which  so  vexed  the  Government  that  the  Pope 
declared  whoever  would  acknowledge  himself  the  author 
of  it  should  have  his  life  spared  and  five  hundred  scudi 
reward. 

'  One  day  a  simple-looking  rustic  came  to  the  Vatican, 
and  said  he  was  come  to  own  himself  the  author  of  the 
pasquinade.  As  such  he  was  shown  in  to  the  Pope. 


298          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

*  "  So  you  are  the  author  of  this  pasquinade,  are  you, 
good  man  ?  " 

'  "  Yes,  Your  Holiness,  I  wrote  it,"  answered  the  fellow. 

'  "  You  are  quite  sure  you  wrote  it  ?  " 

4  "  Oh,  yes,  Your  Holiness,  quite  sure." 

' "  Take  him  and  give  him  the  five  hundred  scudi," 
said  the  Pope. 

1  An  acute  Monsignore,  who  felt  convinced  the  man 
could  not  be  the  author  of  the  clever  satire,  could  not 
refrain  from  interposing  officially  when  he  found  the  Pope 
really  seemed  to  be  taken  in. 

'  "  They  have  their  orders,"  said  the  Pope,  who  was  no 
less  discerning  than  he. 

'  A  chamberlain  took  the  man  into  a  room  where 
five  hundred  scudi  lay  counted  on  the  table,  and  at  the 
same  time  put  on  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  . 

'  "  Halloa  now !  What  is  this  ?  It  was  announced 
that  the  man  who  owned  himself  the  author  of  the  Pas- 
quinade should  have  his  life  free  and  five  hundred  scudi." 

'  "  All  right ;  no  one  is  going  to  touch  your  life,  and 
there  are  the  five  hundred  scudi.  But  you  couldn't  imagine 
that  the  man  who  wrote  that  satire  would  be-  allowed  to 
go  free  about  Eome.  That  was  self-evident — there  was  no 
need  to  say  it." 

' "  Oh,  but  I  never  wrote  a  word  of  it,  upon  my 
honour,"  exclaimed  the  countryman. 

'  "  I  thought  not,"  said  the  Pope,  who  had  come  in  to 
amuse  himself  with  the  fellow's  confusion.  "  Now  go, 
and  another  time  don't  pretend  to  any  worse  sins  than 
your  own." ' 

1  The  statue  called  by  this  name  was  not  originally  found  in  its  present 
situation.  The  shop  of  the  tailor  Pasquino  was  in  the  Via  in  Parione,  a 
turning  out  of  the  Via  del  Governo  Vecchio,  some  little  distance  off,  nor 
was  it  discovered  at  all  till  after  Pasquino's  death.  At  his  time  it  was 
buried  unperceived  in  the  pavement  of  the  street,  and  the  inequalities  of 
its  outline  afforded  stepping-stones  by  means  of  which  passengers  picked 
their  way  through  the  puddles !  Cancellieri  (Mercato,  appendix,  N.  iii.) 


Pasgiiino.  299 

quotes  a  passage  from  a  certain  Tibaldeo  di  Ferrara,  quoted  in  a  book,  his 
dissertation  concerning  the  author  of  which  is  too  long  to  quote.  This 
Tibaldeo,  however,  says,  '  as  the  street  was  being  repaired,  and  I  had  the 
shop  that  was  Pasquino's  made  level,  the  trunk  of  a  statue,  probably  of  a 
gladiator,  was  found,  and  the  people  immediately  gave  it  his  name.'  He, 
however,  quotes  from  other  writers  mention  of  other  sites  for  its  discovery 
mostly  somewhat  nearer  to  the  present  situation.  The  site  of  the  present 
Palazzo  Braschi  was  then  occupied  by  the  so-called  Torre  Orsini,  a  building 
of  a  very  different  ground-plan.  Cancellieri  quotes  from  more  than  one 
MS.  diary  that  at  the  time  the  Marquis  de  Crequy  came  to  Rome  as  ambas- 
sador of  Louis  XIII.  in  1633,  the  Palazzo  de'  Orsini,  where  he  was  lodged, 
was  designated  as  '  sopra  Pasquino.'  And  again  from  another  MS.  diary, 
that  in  1728,  when  the  palace  was  bought  by  the  Duca  di  Bracciano-Odo - 
scalchi,  the  same  designation  remained  in  use.  In  the  Diary  of  Cracas,  under 
date  March  19,  1791,  is  an  entry  detailing  the  care  with  which  the  Pasquino 
statue  was  removed  to  a  pedestal  prepared  for  it  in  front  of  Palazzo  Pam- 
fili  during  the  completion  of  the  contiguous  portion  of  the  Palazzo  Braschi, 
and  its  restoration  is  duly  entered  on  the  14th  March  of  the  same  year.1 

It  was  Adrian  VI.  (not  Alexander  VI.  as  Murray  has  it),  who  proposed 
to  throw  it  into  the  Tiber.  Adrian  VI.  was  a  victim  of  pasquinades  for 
two  reasons, — the  first,  because  born  at  Utrecht  and  tutor  of  Charles  V., 
and  afterwards  viceroy  in  Spain,  during  all  Charles'  absence  in  Germany 
Rome  feared  at  his  election  that  he  would  set  up  the  Papal  See  in  Spain  ; 
and  it  is  not  altogether  impossible  that  the  popular  satires  may  have  had 
some  influence  in  deciding  him  on  the  contrary  to  repair  immediately  to 
Rome, — the  second,  because  he  was  an  energetic  and  unsparing  reformer  ; 
and  those  who  were  touched  by  his  measures  were  just  those  who  could 
afford  to  pay  the  hire  of  the  tongues  of  popular  wags. 

Nor  was  it  only  during  his  life  that  he  was  the  subject  of  such  criticisms. 
When  his  rigorous  reign  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  close  after  he  had  worn 
the  tiara  but  twenty  months,  on  the  door  of  his  physician  was  posted  this 
satire,  '  Liberatori  Patrise  S.P.Q.R.'*  ;  and  his  tomb  in  St.  Peter's,  between 
that  of  Pius  II.  and  Pius  III.,  was  disgraced  with  this  epitaph :  '  Hie  jacet 
impius  inter  Pios,'  till  some  years  later,  when  his  body  was  removed  to  a 
worthier  monument  in  S.  Maria  del  Anima. 

1  There  is  clearly  a  typographical  error  about  one  of  these  dates,  which  could 
doubtless  be  corrected  by  reference  to  '  Notizie  delle  due  famose  statue  di  un 
liume  e  di  Pairoclo  dette  volgarmente  di  Marforio  e  di  Pasquino,'  by  the  same 
author,  Rome,  1789,  which  I  have  not  been  able  to  see.     Moroni,  vi.  99,  gives 
1791  as  the  year  in  which  it  was  bought  by  Duke  Braschi,  the  nephew  of 
Pius  VI.  while  the  Pope  was  in  exile  in  France,  and  the  completion  by  the  re- 
building must,  therefore,  have  been  some  years  later. 

The  date  of  its  discovery  is  told  in  the  following  inscription  by  the  cardinal 
inhabiting  Torre  Orsini  at  the  time,  and  who  saved  it  from  destruction  : — 

Oliverii  Caraffa 

Beneficio  hie  sum 

Anno  Salvati  Mundi — MDI, 

2  Giovjo;  Vit.  Hadr.  VI, 


300          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

[The  c  Pasquino  '  statue  was  not  only  the  receptacle  of  the 
invectives  of  the  vulgar,  it  often  served  also  to  mark  the  triumphs 
of  the  great.  The  first  time  it  was  put  to  this  use  was  in  1571, 
on  occasion  of  the  triumph  of  M.  A.  Colonna,  when  the  parts 
wanting  were  restored,  and  it  was  clad  in  shining  armour.  On 
various  occasions,  as  a  new  pope  went  in  procession  from  the 
Vatican  to  perform  the  ceremony  called  '  taking  possession '  of 
St.  John  Lateran,  it  was  similarly  risanato  del  suo  stroppio 
ordinario  (healed  of  the  usual  lameness  of  its  members),  and 
made  to  bear  a  sword,  a  balance,  a  cornucopia,  and  other  em- 
blematical devices,  which  are  given  at  great  length  by  Cancel- 
lieri. 

The  opinions  of  Winkelman,  and  others,  concerning  the  great 
artistic  merits  both  of  this  statue  and  that  called  '  Marforio,'  do 
not  belong  to  our  present  aspect  of  it.  Sprenger,  '  Roma  nuova,' 
says  that  besides  these  two  there  was  another  statue  which  used  to 
take  part  in  this  satirical  converse,  namely,  that  of  the  Water- 
seller,  with  his  barrel  (commemorative  of  a  well-known,  though 
humble  character),  opposite  the  Church  of  S.  Marcello,  in  the 
Corso,  which  the  present  rulers,  ignorant  of  Roman  traditions, 
removed.  The  Romans,  however,  clamoured  against  its  destruc- 
tion, and  it  is  now  replaced  round  the  corner,  up  the  Via  Lata.] 


CECINGULO. 

'  THERE  was  one  who  would  have  done  much  better  for  you 
than  Pasquino ;  that  was  Cecingulo,1  at  least  that's  the 
nickname  people  gave  him.  There  was  no  end  to  the 
number  of  stories  he  could  tell. 

'  In  days  gone  by,2  he  used  to  sit  in  Piazza  Navona  of 
an  evening  when  people  had  left  work  and  had  time 
to  listen,  and  he  would  pour  them  out  by  the  hour.  Now 
and  then  he  stopped,  and  went  round  with  his  hat,  and 
there  were  few  who  did  not  spare  him  a  bajocco.' 

'  Did  you  ever  hear  him  yourself  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  it  was  before  my  time,  but  my  father  has  heard 


The  Wooing  of  Cassandro.  30 1 

him  many's  the  time,  and  many  of  the  stories  I  have  told 
you  are  the  tales  of  Cecingulo.  How  often  I  have  said  to 
him,  "  Tell  me  one  of  Cecingulo's  tales,  papa  !  " ' 3 

1  I  have  not  been  able  to  make  out  the  origin  of  this  name.     It  is 
possibly,  a  mere  combination  of  Cecco,  short  for  Francesco,  and  a  family 
name,  or  the  name  of   the  village  of  which  he  was  native  which  I  do  not 
recognise 

2  '  Nei  tempi  di  prima.' 

3  It  is  very  likely  Cecingulo  was  some  generations  older  even  than  the 
narrator's  '  papa.'     I  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  put  this  much  about 
him  on  record,  as  he  was  doubtless  one  of  those  who  have  given  the  local 
colouring  to  these  very  tales.     The  old  women  whose  heads  are  their  store- 
house, as  they  repeat  them  over  the  spinning-wheel,   say  them  with  no 
further  alteration  than  want  of  memory  or  want  of  apprehension  necessarily 
occasions.     It  is  the  professional  wag  who,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  the  vege- 
table market  amid  a  peasant  audience,  will  ascribe  to  a  cicoriaro  the  acts  of 
a  paladin,  and  insert  'a  casino  in  the  Campagna'in  the  place  of  an  oriental 
palace.     I  have  met  various  people  who  had  heard  as  much  as  the  above 
about  Cecingulo,  but  no  more. 


THE   WOOING  OF  CASSANDRO.1 

'  DID  you  ever  hear  of  Sor  Cassandro  ? ' 

'  No,  never.' 

4  Do  you  know  where  Panico  is  ?  ' 

'  I  know  the  Via  di  Panico  2  which  leads  down  to  Ponte 
•S.  Angelo.' 

'  Very  well ;  at  the  end  of  Panico 3  there  is  a  frying- 
shop,4  which,  many  years  ago,  was  kept  by  an  old  man 
with  a  comely  daughter.  Both  were  well  known  all  over 
the  Kione. 

'  One  day  there  came  an  old  gentleman,  with  a  wig 
and  tights,  and  a  comical  old-fashioned  dress  altogether, 
and  said  to  the  shopkeeper — 

4 "  I've  observed  that  daughter  of  yours  many  days  as  I 
have  passed  by,  and  should  like  to  make  her  my  wife." 

'  "  It's  a  great  honour  for  me,  Sor  Cassandro,  that  you 


3O2          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

should  talk  of  such  a  thing,"  answered  the  old  man ;  and 
he  said  "  Sor  Cassandro "  like  that  because  everybody 
knew  old  Sor  Cassandro  with  his  wig,  and  his  gold-knobbed 
stick,  and  his  tights,  and  his  old-fashioned  gait.  "  But," 
he  added,  as  a  knowing  way  of  getting  out  of  it,  "  you  see 
it  wouldn't  do  for  a  friggitora  to  marry  a  gentleman  ;  a 
friggitora  must  marry  a  friggitore." 

' "  I  don't  know  that  that  need  be  a  bar,"  replied  Sor 
Cassandro. 

4 "  You  don't  understand  me,  Sor  Cassandro,"  pursued 
the  man. 

1  "  Yes,  I  understand  perfectly,"  answered  the  other. 
"  You  mean  that  if  she  must  marry  a  friggitore^  I  must 
become  a  friggitore? 

1 "  You  a  friggitore,  Sor  Cassandro !  That  would 
never  do.  How  could  you  so  demean  yourself?" 

' "  Love  makes  all  sweet,"  responded  Sor  Cassandro. 
"  You've  only  to  show  me  what  to  do  and  I'll  do  it  as 
well  as  anyone." 

6  The  friggitore  was  something  of  a  wag,  and  the  idea 
of  the  prim  little  Sor  Cassandro  turned  into  a  journeyman 
friggitore  tickled  his  fancy,  and  he  let  him  follow  his 
bent. 

*The  next  morning  Sor  Cassandro  was  at  Panico  as 
soon  as  the  shop  was  open.  They  gave  him  a  white  jacket 
and  a  large  white  apron,  and  put  a  white  cap  on  his  head, 
with  a  carnation  stuck  in  it.  And  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood gathered  round  the  shop  to  see  Sor  Cassandro 
turned  into  a  friggitore.  The  work  of  the  shop  was  in- 
creased tenfold,  and  it  was  well  there  was  an  extra  hand 
to  help  at  it. 

'  Sor  Cassandro  was  very  patient,  and  adapted  himself 
to  his  work  surprisingly  well,  and  though  the  master 
fryer  took  a  pleasure  in  ordering  him  about,  he  submitted 
to  all  with  good  grace,  and  not  only  did  he  make  him  do 
the  frying  and  serving  out  to  perfection,  but  he  even 


The  Wooing  of  Cassandra.  303 

taught  him  to  clip  his  words  and  leave  off  using  any 
expression  that  seemed  inappropriate  to  his  new  station.5 

4  There  was  no  denying  that  Sor  Cassandro  had  become 
a  perfect  friggitore,  and  no  exception  could  be  taken 
to  him  on  that  score.  As  soon  as  he  felt  himself  perfect 
he  did  not  fail  to  renew  his  suit. 

4  The  father  was  puzzled  what  objection  to  make  next. 
He  knew,  however,  that  Sor  Cassandro  was  very  miserly, 
so  he  said,  "  You've  made  yourself  a  friggitore  to  please 
me,  now  you  must  do  something  to  please  the  girl.  Sup- 
pose you  bring  her  some  trinkets,  if  you  can  spare  the 
price  of  them." 

'  "  Oh,  anything  for  love  !  "  answered  Sor  Cassandro  ; 
and  the  next  day  he  brought  a  pair  of  earrings. 

'  "  How  did  she  like  my  earrings  ?  "  he  whispered  next 
night  to  her  father. 

'  "  Oh,  pretty  well ! "  replied  the  father.  «  You  might 
try  something  more  in  that  style." 

'  The  next  day  he  brought  her  a  necklace,  the  next 
day  a  shawl,  and  after  that  he  brought  fifty  scudi  to  buy 
clothes  such  as  a  girl  should  have  when  she's  going  to  be 
married. 

*  After  all  this  he  asked  for  the  girl  herself. 

1 "  You  mast  take  her,"  said  the  father,  and  Sor  Cas- 
sandro went  to  take  her.  But  she  was  a  sprightly,  impul- 
sive girl,  and  the  moment  he  came  near  her  she  screamed 
out — 

' "  Gret  away,  horrid  old  man !  "  5  and  wouldn't  let  him 
approach  her. 

4  "  Leave  her  alone  to-night,  and  try  to-morrow.  I'll 
try  to  bring  her  round  in  the  meantime." 

'  Sor  Cassandro  came  next  day  ;  but  the  girl  was  more 
violent  than  ever,  and  would  say  nothing  but  "  Get  away, 
horrid  old  man  ! " 

*  Finding  this  went  on  day  after  day  without  amend- 
ment, Sor  Cassandro   indignantly  asked  for  his  presents 
back. 


304          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

6 "  You  shall  have  them !  "  cried  the  girl,  and  the 
clothes  she  tore  up  to  rags,  and  the  trinkets  she  broke  to 
atoms  and  threw  them  all  at  him. 

'  But  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  wherever  he  went,  the 
boys  cried  after  him,  "  Sor  Cassandro,  la  friggitora  !  Sor 
Cassandro,  la  friggitora  !  " ' 

1  '  Lo  Sposalizio  di  Sor  Cassandro.'    For  '  Sor '  see  p.  194. 

2  The  'Via  di  Panico'  is    so  called,  according  to  Rufini,  because  on  a 
bit  of  ancient  sculpture  built  into  the  wall  of  one  of  the  houses  where  it 
had  been  dug  up  as  is  so  commonly  done  in  Kome,  the  people  thought  they 
saw  the  likeness  of  some  ears  of  millet,  panico,  and  birds  pecking  them. 

3  Just  as  at  Oxford,  men  say  '  the  High  '  and  '  the  Corn,'  &c.,  it  is  very 
common  in  Rome  to  use  the  name  of  a  street  omitting  the  word  Via. 

4  '  Friggitoria,' an  open  shop  where  all  manner  of  fried   dishes  very 
popular   among  the  lower  classes,  and  varying  according  to  the  time  of 
year,  are  made  and  sold ;  three  or  four  or  more  enormous  pans  of  oil  and 
of  lard  are  kept  boiling,  and  at  one  season  fish,  at  another  rice-balls,  at 
another  artichokes,  &c.  &c.,  always  previously  dipped  into  light  batter,  are 
cooked  therein  to  a  bright  gold  colour.    On  St.  Joseph's  Day,  as  it  always 
falls  in  Lent,  a  meagre  festa-dish  is  made  of  balls  of  batter  fried  in  oil, 
in  as  universal  request  as  our  pancakes  on  Shrove  Tuesday.     A  writer  in 
the  '  Giovedi '  mentions  two  popular  traditions  on  the  connexion  between 
the  'frittelle'  or  '  frittatelli '  and  St.  Joseph.     One  is  that  St.  Joseph  was 
wont  to  make  such  a  dish  for  his  meal  by  frying  them  with  the  shavings 
from  his  bench,  in  the  same  dangerous  way  that  you  may  see  those  of  his 
trade  heating  their  glue  in  any  carpenter's  shop  in  Rome.     The  other,  that 
on  occasion  of  the  Visitation,  the  B.  Virgin  and  St.  Elizabeth  remained  so 
long  in  ecstatic  conversation  that  the  dinner  was  forgotten,  and  St.  Joseph 
took  the  liberty  allowed  to  so  near  a  relation  of  possessing  himself  of  a 
frying-pan  and  preparing  a  dish  of  '  frittelle.' 

The  writer  already  quoted  narrates  in  another  paper  that  the  '  friggitori ' 
formerly  plied  their  trade  in  the  open  air,  but  one  day  a  eat  escaping  from 
the  attentions  of  an  admirer  she  did  not  choose  to  encourage,  sprang  from 
a  low  roof  adjoining,  right  into  the  frying-pan  of  a  '  friggittore  '  full  as  it 
was  of  boiling  oil  and  spluttering  '  frittelle';  the  cat  overturned  the  frying- 
pan,  setting  herself  on  fire,  and  carrying  a  panic  together  with  a  stream  of 
flaming  oil  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  in  waiting  for  their  '  frittelle.' 
Since  that  day  the  '  friggitore '  fries  under  cover,  though  still  in  open  shops. 

4  Great  part  of  the  fun  of  the  story  consisted  of  jokes  upon  these  tech- 
nicalities which  it  would  be  too  tedious  to  reproduce  and  explain. 

*  '  Brutto  vecchiaccio ! '  ugly,  horrid  old  man. 


/  Cocorni.  305 


I  COCORNI. 

THIS  story  of  Sor  Cassandro  led  to  others  of  the  same 
nature,  but  without  sufficient  interest  in  the  detail 
to  put  in  print,  though  they  seemed  to  illustrate  the 
fact  that  an  imaginative  people  will  rapidly  turn  the 
most  ordinary  circumstances  into  a  myth.  For  instance, 
one  concerned  a  family  named  Cocorni,  who  seem  to  have 
been  nothing  more  than  successful  grocers,  the  Twinings 
of  Rome,  and  here  is  a  specimen  of  the  language  used 
about  them : — '  When  his  daughter  was  old  enough  to 
marry,  Cocorno  would  hear  of  no  proposal  for  her.  "  No," 
said  he ;  "  no  one  marries  my  daughter  but  he  who  comes 
in  a  carriage  and  four  to  fetch  her."  And  it  really  did 
happen  that  one  came  in  a  carriage  and  four  and  took  her 
away ; '  as  if  it  were  such  a  great  matter  that  it  implied 
something  supernatural. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  ENGLISHWOMAN. 

THERE  was  a  beautiful  Englishwoman  here  once,  beautiful 
and  rich  as  the  sun.1  Heads  without  number  were  turned 
by  her :  but  she  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  anyone  who 
wanted  to  marry  her.  Some  defect  she  found  in  all.  She 
was  very  accomplished,  as  well  as  rich  and  beautiful,  and 
she  drew  a  picture,  and  said  '  When  one  comes  who  is 
like  this  I  will  marry  him  ;  but  no  one  else.'  Some  time 
after  a  friend  came  to  her,  and  said  : 

'  There  is  So-and-so,  he  is  exactly  like  the  portrait  you 
have  drawn,  and  is  dying  to  see  you.' 

4  Is  he  really  like  it  ?'  she  inquired. 

'  To  me  he  seems  exactly  like  it ;  and  I  don't  see  he 
has  any  defect  at  all,  except  that  he  has  one  tooth  a  little 
green.' 

x 


306          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

'  Then  I  won't  have  anything  to  say  to  him.' 

'  But,  if  he  is  exactly  like  the  portrait  you  have 
drawn?' 

'  He  can't  be,  or  he  wouldn't  have  any  defect.' 

1  But  he  is  exactly  like  it,  and  so  you  must  see  him  ;  if 
it's  only  for  curiosity.' 

*  Well,  for  curiosity,  then,  I'll  see  him ;  but  don't  let 
him  build  any  hopes  upon  it.' 

The  friend  arranged  that  they  should  meet  at  a  ball, 
and  the  one  was  as  well  pleased  as  the  other ;  but  not 
wishing  to  seem  to  yield  too  soon,  she  said  : 

'  Do  you  know,  I  don't  like  that  green  tooth  you've 
got.' 

And  he,  not  to  appear  too  easy  either,  answered : 

'  And,  do  you  know,  I  don't  like  that  patch2  you  have 
on  your  face.' 

The  next  time  they  met,  neither  he  had  a  green  tooth, 
nor  had  she  a  patch ;  for,  you  know,  a  patch  can  be  put 
on  and  taken  off  at  pleasure,  and  this  happened  a  long  long 
while  ago,  in  the  days  when  they  wore  such  things. 

She  then  said : 

4  If  you've  put  in  a  false  tooth  I'll  have  nothing  to  say 
to  you.' 

'  No,'  answered  he  ;  '  you  have  taken  off  your  patchj 
and  I've  taken  off  my  green  tooth.' 

'  How  could  you  do  that  ? '  she  asked. 

'  Oh  !  it  was  only  a  leaf  I  put  on  to  see  if  you  were 
really  as  particular  as  you  seemed  to  be.' 

As  they  were  desperately  in  love  with  each  other,  the 
next  thing  was  to  arrange  the  marriage  secretly.  His 
father  had  a  great  title,  and  would  never  have  consented 
to  his  marrying  her,  because  she  had  none.  But  she  had 
money  enough  for  both  ;  so  they  contrived  a  secret  mar- 
riage. And  then  they  bought  a  villa  some  way  off,  and 
lived  there. 

For  thirteen  years  they  lived  devoted  to  each  other,  and 


The  Beautiful  Englishwoman.  307 

full  of  happiness  ;  and  two  children  were  horn  to  them,  a 
boy  and  a  girl.  It  was  only  after  thirteen  years  that  the 
father  discovered  where  the  son  was,  and  when  he  did,  he 
sent  for  an  assassin,3  and  giving  him  plenty  of  money, 
told  him  to  go  and  by  some  device  or  other  to  bring  him 
to  him  and  get  through  the  affair.  The  assassin  took  a 
carriage  and  dressed  like  a  man  of  some  importance,  and 
said  that  some  chief  man  or  other  in  the  Government  had 
sent  for  him  to  speak  to  him.  The  husband  suspected 
nothing,  and  went  with  him.  As  it  was  night  he  could 
not  see  which  way  they  drove,  and  thus  he  delivered  his 
son  to  his  father,  who  kept  him  shut  up  in  his  palace. 

The  assassin  went  back  to  the  villa,  and  by  giving  each 
of  the  servants  fifty  scudi  apiece,  got  access  to  the  wife, 
and  murdered  her,  and  then  took  the  children  to  the 
grandfather's  palace. 

4  Papa,  that  man  killed  mama,'  said  the  little  boy,  as 
soon  as  he  saw  his  father. 

The  husband  seized  the  man,  and  made  him  confess  it. 

'  Then  now  you  must  kill  him  who  hired  you  to  do  it,' 
he  exclaimed.  '  As  you  have  done  the  one,  you  must  do 
the  other.  He  who  ordered  my  wife  to  be  killed  is  no 
father  to  me.' 

So  the  assassin  went  in  and  killed  the  father, .  but 
when  he  came  out  the  husband  was  ready  for  him,  and  he 
said : 

'  Now  your  turn  has  come,'  and  he  shot  him  dead. 

1  '  Bella  e  ricca  quanto  il  sole." 

2  '  Mosca '  and  '  neo'  both  mean  either  a  mole  or  a  patch. 
8  '  Sicario,'  hired  assassin. 

[I  have  not  had  the  opportunity  of  sifting  this  story,  but  it 
manifestly  contains  the  usual  popular  exaggerations.] 


x  2 


308          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  £fc. 


THE  ENGLISHMAN. 

[That  a  rich  Englishman  should  fall  in  love  with  a  beautiful 
but  poor  Roman  girl,  and  marry  her,  is  no  impossible  incident, 
and  may  have  happened  more  than  once  ;  but  it  is  very  curious 
to  watch  how  it  has  passed  into  the  mythology  of  the  people. 

The  idea  of  a  '  Gran  Signore  '  coming  on  a  visit  from  a  land 
where  all  are  rich  is  the  first  fantastic  element  of  the  tradition. 
The  idea  that  all  English  people  are  rich  is  very  common  among 
the  Roman  lower  classes,  and  is  not  an  unnatural  fancy  for 
people  to  take  up  who  have  seen  no  specimens  of  the  creature 
but  such  as  are  rich.  There  is  one  old  woman  whom  I  have  never 
been  able  to  disabuse  of  the  idea.  I  shall  never  forget  the  blank 
astonishment  with  which  she  repeated  my  words  the  first  time  I 
broke  it  to  her  that  there  were  poor  people  in  England,  and  she 
has  never  thoroughly  grasped  it. 

'  lo  pensava  che  in  Inghilterra  tutti  erano  ricchi — tutti 
ricchi — '  (I  thought  everyone — everyone  in  England  was  rich) 
she  always  says,  as  if  in  spite  of  me  she  thought  so  still. 

That  such  an  one  should  be  won  by  the  charms  of  a  beauti- 
ful Roman  girl,  and  should  carry  her  off  to  that  unknown  land 
bright  with  gold  but  devoid  of  sun,  and  that  in  the  end  the  fogs 
and  the  Protestantism  should  prove  unendurable  to  the  child  of 
the  South,  are  not  bad  materials  for  a  fairy  story. 

I  have  met  with  such  stories  several  times. 

One  old  woman  assured  me,  that  when  she  was  a  child  her 
father  had  let  an  apartment  to  the  very  man,  and  that  he  took  the 
room  for  a  month,  and  though  he  spontaneously  offered  ten 
tunes  as  high  a  price  as  the  owner  could  ever  have  asked,  he 
never  slept  there.  He  had  secretly  married  a  Roman  girl  who 
was  imprisoned  for  breaking  the  law  by  marrying  a  Protestant, 
and  he  opened  her  prison  doors  with  his  '  wand,'  that  is,  he 
bribed  the  jailer  to  admit  him  to  pass  all  his  time  in  prison  with 
her  ;  ultimately  he  carried  her  off  to  England,  but  she  soon  died 
there. 

Another  pointed  out  to  me  a  shop  where  in  former  days  had 
been  a  butcher,  whose  daughter  had  charmed  a  rich  Englishman, 
who  carried  her  off  to  his  own  country,  and  married  her  there. 


T/te  Marriage  of  Signor  Cajusse.         309 

Biit  this  was  a  very  tetra  (sad,  gloomy)  story,  for  after  many 
years  she  came  back  looking  like  the  ghost  of  herself.  She  had 
gone  away  a  blooming  girl,  the  pride  and  the  admiration  of  the 
whole  neighbourhood  ;  she  came  back  prematurely  grey,  hollow- 
eyed,  and  thin  as  a  skeleton. 

She  said  it  was  the  climate  had  disagreed  with  her,  and 
further  than  that  she  would  say  nothing.  But  who  knows  what 
she  may  not  have  had  to  go  through  ! 

Bresciani  has  made  the  same  tradition  the  groundwork  of  one 
of  his  most  interesting  romances.] 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  SIGNOR   CAJUSSE.1 

THERE  was  a  rich  farmer2  who  had  one  only  daughter,  and 
she  was  to  be  his  heiress.  She  fell  in  love  with  a  count 
who  had  no  money — at  least  only  ten  scudi  a  month. 
When  he  went  to  the  farmer  to  ask  her  in  marriage  he 
would  not  hear  of  the  alliance,  and  sent  him  away. 

But  the  girl  and  he  were  bent  on  the  marriage,  and 
this  is  how  they  brought  it  about.  The  girl  had  a 
thousand  scudi  of  her  own ;  half  of  this  she  gave  to  him, 
and  said :  '  Gro  over  a  certain  tract  of  the  Campagna  and 
visit  all  the  peasants  about,  and  give  five  piastres  to  one 
and  ten  to  another  according  to  their  degree,  that  they 
may  say  when  they,  are  asked  that  they  all  belong  to 
Signor  Cajusse.  Then  take  papa  round  to  hear  what  they 
say,  and  he  will  think  you  are  a  great  proprietor,  and  will 
let  us  marry.' 

Signor  Cajusse,  for  such  was  his  name,  took  the 
money  and  did  as  she  told  him,  and  then  hired  a  carriage 
and  came  to  her  father,  and  said :  '  You  are  quite  mis- 
taken in  thinking  I'm  too  poor  to  marry  your  daughter  ; 
come  and  take  a  drive  with  me,  and  I  will  show  you  what 
a  great  man  I  am.' 

So  the  farmer    got    into  his  carriage,  and  he  drove 


310          Ghost  and  Treasiire  Stories,  &c. 

him  round  to  all  the  peasants  he  had  bribed.  First  they 
stopped  at  a  farm.3 

'  Good  morning,  Signer  Cajusse,'  said  the  tenant,  who 
had  been  duly  primed,  bowing  down  to  the  ground  ;  and 
then  he  began  to  tell  him  about  his  crops,  as  if  he  had 
been  really  proprietor. 

After  this  he  proposed  to  walk  a  little  way,  and  all  the 
labourers  left  their  work  and  flocked  after  him,  crying, 
« G-ood  day,  Signor  Cajusse ;  health  to  you  and  long  life, 
and  may  God  prosper  you ! '  and  they  tried  to  kiss  his  hand. 

Further  along  they  came  to  a  villa  where  Cajusse  had 
ascertained  that  the  real  proprietor  would  not  come  that 
day.  Here  he  went  straight  up  to  the  casino,  where  the 
servant  in  charge,  who  had  been  also  duly  bribed,  received 
him  with  all  the  honours  due  to  a  master. 

'  Welcome,  Signor  Cajusse,'  he  said,  and  opened  the 
doors  and  shutters  and  set  the  chairs. 

'  Bring  a  little  of  that  fine  eight-year-old  wine,'  ordered 
Cajusse  ;  '  we  have  brought  a  packet  of  biscuits,  and  will 
have  some  luncheon.' 4 

*  Yery  good,  Signor  Cajusse,'  replied  the  servant  re- 
spectfully, and  shortly  after  brought  in  a  bottle  of  wine 
handed  to  him  for  the  purpose  by  Cajusse  the  day  before. 
When  they  had  drunk  they  took  a  stroll  round  the  place, 
and  wherever  they  turned  the  labourers  all  had  a  greeting 
and  a  blessing  for  Signor  Cajusse. 

When  the  merchant  saw  all  this  he  hardly  knew  how 
to  forgive  himself  for  having  run  the  risk  of  losing  such  a 
son-in-law.  He  was  all  smiles  and  civility  as  they  drove 
home,  and  the  next  day  was  as  anxious  to  hurry  on  the 
match  as  he  had  been  before  to  put  it  off.  As  all  were 
equally  in  a  hurry  to  have  it,  of  course  it  was  not  long  before 
it  was  celebrated.  With  the  girl's  remaining  five  hundred 
scudi  a  handsome  apartment  was  hired  to  satisfy  appear- 
ances before  the  parents,  and  for  a  few  days  they  lived  on 
what  was  left  over. 


The  Daughter  of  Count  Laitanzio.        3 1 1 

They  sat  counting  their  last  two  or  three  scudi.  '  What 
is  to  be  done  now  ? '  said  Cajusse ;  '  that  will  soon  be 
spent,  and  then  how  are  we  to  live  ? ' 

1  I'll  set  it  right,'  answered  the  bride.  '  Now  we're 
married  that's  all  that  signifies.  Now  it's  done  they  can't 
help  it.' 

So  she  went  to  her  mother  and  told  her  all,  and  the 
good  woman,  knowing  the  thing  could  not  be  altered, 
talked  over  the  father  ;  and  he  gave  them  something  to 
live  upon  and  found  a  place  for  Cajusse,  and  they  were 
very  happy. 

1  '  I  Matrimonio  del  Signor  Cajusse.'     This  story,  it  will  be  seen,  is 
altogether  disconnected  with  the  other  of  the  same  name  at  p.  158-69,  and 
it  is  curious  so  similar  a  title  should  be  appended  to  so  dissimilar  a  story. 
It  has  not  half  the  humour  of  Mr.  Campbell's  '  Baillie  Lunnain,'  No.  xvii. 
b.  Vol.  i.,  but  is  sufficiently  like  to  pair  off  against  it.    It  is  also  observable 
for  representing  exactly  the  proceeding  of  the  '  Marquis  di  Carabas '  in 
'  Puss  in  Boots.' 

2  '  Mercante  di  Campagna,'  see  n.  2,  p.  154. 
8  'Tenuta,'  a  farm ;  a  holding. 

4  '  Merenda,'  see  n.  7,  p.  155. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  COUNT  LATTANZIO.1 

COUNT  LATTANZIO  had  a  daughter  who  was  in  love  with  a 
lawyer,  but  the  count  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  let  her 
marry  beneath  her  station,  and  he  took  all  the  pains 
imaginable  to  prevent  them  from  meeting ;  so  much  so 
that  he  scarcely  left  her  out  of  his  sight.  One  day  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  his  vineyard  outside  the  gates,  and  before 
he  left  he  gave  strict  injunctions  to  his  servant  to  let  no 
one  in  till  he  came  back  at  21  o'clock.2 

It  was  an  hour  before  21  o'clock,  and  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door. 

'  Is  the  Count  Lattanzio  in  ?  ' 

'  No,  he  won't  be  in  just  yet.' 


3  1 2          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

'  Ah,  I  know,  he  won't  be  in  till  21  o'clock ;  he  said  I 
was  to  wait.  I'm  come  to  measure  him  for  a  pair  of  new 
boots.3 

4  If  he  told  you  to  wait  I  suppose  you  must,'  said  the 
servant ;  *  otherwise  he  had  told  me  not  to  let  anyone  in.' 
And  as  he  showed  him  in  he  thought  he  was  a  rather 
gentlemanly  bootmaker. 

Soon  after  there  was  another  knock. 

'  Is  the  Count  Lattanzio  in  ? ' 

'  No,  he  won't  be  in  for  some  time  yet.' 

'  Ah,  never  mind ;  he  said  I  was  to  wait  if  he  hadn't 
come  in.  I'm  the  tailor,  come  to  measure  him  for  a  new 
suit.' 

'  If  he  said  you  were  to  wait  I  suppose  you  must,' 
answered  the  servant ;  '  but  it's  very  odd  he  should  have 
told  you  so,  as  he  particularly  told  me  to  let  no  one  in.' 
However,  he  showed  him  in  also.  Directly  after  there 
came  another  knock. 

'  Is  the  Count  Lattanzio  at  home  ?  ' 

'  No,  he  won't  be  in  for  some  time  yet.' 

'  Never  mind ;  I'm  the  lawyer  engaged  in  his  cause 
before  the  courts.  He  said  I  was  to  wait  if  he  wasn't 
in.' 

But  the  servant  began  to  get  alarmed  at  having  to 
disobey  orders  so  many  times,  and  he  thought  he  would 
make  a  stand. 

« I'm  very  sorry,'  he  said,  « but  master  said  I  wasn't  to 
show  anyone  in.' 

4  What !  when  I've  come  here  with  my  two  clerks,  on 
particular  business  of  the  greatest  importance  to  your 
master,  do  you  suppose  I'm  going  away  again  like  that, 
fellow?' 

The  servant  was  so  amazed  by  his  imperative  manner 
that  he  let  him  in,  too. 

Twenty-one  o'clock  came  at  last,  and  with  it  Count 
Lattanzio.  Having  given  orders  that  no  one  should  be  let 


Bellacuccia. 


313 


in,  of  course  he  expected  to  find  no  one.  What  was  his 
astonishment,  therefore,  when,  as  he  opened  the  drawing- 
room  door,  a  loud  cry  of  Long  live  Count  Lattanzio  !  '4 
uttered  by  several  voices,  met  his  ear. 

The  shoemaker  was  the  bridegroom,  the  tailor  the  best 
man,  the  lawyer  and  his  two  clerks  were  the  notary  and 
his  witnesses.  The  marriage  articles  had  been  duly  drawn 
up  and  signed,  and  as  the  parties  were  of  age  there  was 
no  rescinding  the  contract. 

Count  Lattanzio  sent  away  the  servant  for  not  attend- 
ing to  orders ;  but  that  made  no  difference — the  deed  was 
done. 

1  This  story,  again,  is  perhaps  more  curious  for  the  sake  of  the  repetition 
of  the  name  of  Lattanzio,  in  so  different  a  story  as  that  at  p.  155,  than  for 
its  contents.     There  is  doubtless  a  reason  why  this  name  should  come  into 
this  sort  of  use  as  with  that  of  '  Cajusse,'  but  I  have  not  as  yet  been  able 
to  meet  with  it. 

2  '  21  o'clock,'  three  hours  before  the  Ave. 

*  '  G-isbuse '  are  high  boots  of  unblackened  leather  reaching  up  to  th» 
thighs,  worn  by  sportsmen  about  Rome. 

4  '  Viva  ! '  or  '  Ewiva  ! '  is  a  not  very  uncommon,  though  rather  old- 
fashioned,  mode  of  hearty  greeting. 


BELLACUCCIA. 

THERE  was  once  a  pleader1  who  sat  writing  in  his  room  all 
day  whenever  he  was  not  in  court. 

One  day  as  he  so  sat  there  came  in  at  the  window  a 
large  monkey,  and  began  whisking  about  the  room.  The 
lawyer,  pleased  with  the  antics  of  the  monkey,  called  it 
scimmia  bellacuccia,2  and  caressed  and  fed  it.  By-and- 
by  he  had  to  go  out  on  his  business,  and  though  he  was  in 
some  fear  of  the  pranks  the  monkey  might  be  up  to  in  his 
absence,  he  had  taken  such  a  fancy  to  it  that  he  did  not 
like  to  send  it  away,  and  at  last  left  it  alone  in  his 
apartment. 


314          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories •,  crV. 

When  he  came  home,  instead  of  the  monkey  having 
been  at  any  mischievous  pranks,  the  whole  suite  of  rooms 
was  put  in  beautiful  order,  and  out  of  very  scanty  mate- 
rials in  the  cupboard  an  excellent  dinner  was  cooked 
and  laid  ready. 

'  Scimmia  bellacuccia  !  is  this  your  doing  ! '  said  the 
lawyer,  and  the  monkey  nodded  assent. 

'  Then  you  are  a  precious  monkey,  indeed,'  he  replied, 
and  he  called  it  to  him  and  fed  it,  and  gave  it  part  of  the 
dinner. 

The  next  day  the  monkey  did  the  work  of  the  house, 
and  the  lawyer  sent  away  his  servant  because  he  had  no 
further  need  for  one,  the  monkey  did  all  much  better  and 
in  a  more  intelligent  way. 

All  went  well  for  a  time,  when  one  day  the  lawyer  had 
occasion  to  visit  a  friar  he  knew  at  St.  Nicolo  da  Tolen- 
tino,  for  in  those  days  there  were  friars  3  there  instead  of 
nuns  as  now.  He  did  not  fail  to  tell  him  of  the  treasure 
he  had  found  in  his  bellacuccia,  as  he  called  his  monkey. 

*  Don't  let  yourself  be  deceived,  friend  ! '  exclaimed  the 
friar.  '  This  is  no  monkey ;  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a 
monkey  to  do  thus.' 

'  Come  and  see  it  yourself,'  said  the  lawyer.  '  You 
will  find  I  have  over-stated  nothing  of  what  it  can  do 
and  does  every  day.' 

Some  days  after  this  the  friar  came,  having  taken  care 
to  provide  himself  with  his  stole  and  a  stoup  of  holy  water. 
Directly  he  came  into  the  lawyer's  apartment  he  put  on 
his  stole  and  sprinkled  the  holy  water. 

The  monkey  no  sooner  saw  the  shadow  of  his  habit 
than  it  took  to  flight,  and,  after  scrambling  all  round  the 
room  to  get  away  from  the  sight  of  him,  finally  hid  itself 
under  the  bed. 

'  You  see ! %  said  the  friar  to  the  lawyer. 

But  the  lawyer  cried,  '  Here  bellacuccia  ;  come  here ! ' 
and  as  the  monkey  was  by  habit  very  docile  and  obedient, 


The  Satyr.  315 

when  he  had  said  '  bellacuccia '  a  great  many  times,  it  at 
last  forced  itself  to  come  to  him,  but  stealthily  and  warily, 
showing  great  fear  of  the  monk. 

When  it  had  got  quite  close  to  the  lawyer,  and  he  was 
holding  it,  the  friar  once  more  put  on  his  stole,  sprinkled 
it  with  holy  water  and  exorcised  it. 

Instantly  bellacuccia  burst  away  from  the  lawyer,  and, 
clambering  up  to  the  window,  broke  away  through  the 
upper  panes  and  disappeared,  leaving  a  smoke  and  a  smell 
of  brimstone  behind.  But  it  was  really  a  man  who  had 
been  put  under  a  spell  by  evil  arts,4  and  when  thus  released 
by  the  monk's  exorcism  he  went  and  became  a  monk,  I 
forget  in  what  order,  but  I  know  it  was  one  of  those  who 
dress  in  white. 

1  '  Curiale,'  a  lawyer,  a  pleader. 

2  '  Scimmia,'  a  monkey.      In  England  we  usually  speak  of  a  cat  as  of 
feminine  gender,  and  in  Germany  the  custom  is  so  strong  that  the  well-known 
riddle  pronounces  the  '  Kater  '  (torn  cat)  '  keine  Katze '  (no  cat),  while 
in  France,  Spain  and  Italy  the  normal  cat  is  masculine.     In  Italian,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  monkey  is  always  spoken  of  in  the  feminine  gender;  it  be- 
comes noteworthy  in  this  instance  when  we  consider  the  termination  of  the 
story.     '  Bellacuccia,'  'dear  little  pretty  one.' 

*  I  do  not  know  at  what  period  the  transfer  took  place,  but  in  the  edition 
of  1725,  of  Panciroli's  book  on  Rome,  the  church  is  named  as  built  and 
served  by  the  '  Eremiti  scalsi  di  S.  Agostino,'  corroborating  this  part  of  the 
story. 

«  'Fatato.' 


THE  SATYR. 
1 


THERE  was  once  a  great  king  who  had  one  only  little 
daughter,  and  this  daughter  was  always  entreating  him  to 
take  her  out  hunting. 

'  It  is  not  proper  for  little  girls  to  go  out  hunting,'  he 
used  to  say  ;  but  it  was  no  use.  She  went  on  begging  all 
the  sames  and  at  last  her  importunity  gained  the  day,  and 


3 1  e>          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

he  took  her  with  him.  But  in  the  forest  she  got  separated 
from  him  and  lost  herself,  and  he,  full  of  the  ardour  of 
the  chase,  forgot  the  care  of  her,  and,  when  he  came 
to  think  of  her,  she  could  no  more  be  found. 

She  wandered  about  the  forest  crying  for  her  father, 
but  her  father  came  not ;  and  instead  of  her  father  a 
selvaggio1  found  her,  and  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  took 
her  to  his  den  and  married  her,  and  she  had  two  children. 

When  ten  years  had  passed,  and  there  were  no  tidings 
of  her,  the  queen,  her  mother,  died  of  a  broken  heart.2 

But  the  selvaggio  loved  her  dearly,  and  did  everything 
in  his  power  to  give  her  pleasure.  When  he  found  she 
could  not  eat  the  raw  game  which  he  brought  her,  he 
would  go  into  the  towns  and  steal  cooked  food  and  bring 
it  to  her,  and  when  he  could  not  get  that  he  would  go  ever 
so  far  to  find  fruits  and  roots.  Everything,  he  did  to  please 
her,  but  it  was  no  use,  she  could  not  love  him. 

At  last,  however,  after  so  many  years  were  passed,  he 
thought  she  was  at  least  used  to  the  way  of  life  with  him, 
and  he  no  longer  watched  her  so  closely.  One  day  when 
he  was  gone  to  a  long  distance  she  wandered  on  to  a  cliff 
that  overhung  the  sea,  and  looked  till  she  saw  a  ship,  then 
she  called  to  it  and  made  signs  to  it  to  come  and  pick 
her  up. 

The  captain  took  compassion  on  her  distress,  and 
made  for  the  land,  and  took  her  on  board  and  wrapped 
her  in  a  cloak,3  and  she  told  him  who  she  was  and  he 
promised  to  take  her  home.  He  gave  her  a  white  kerchief 
to  put  on  her  head  and  another  to  hold  in  her  hand. 

They  had  not  got  far  out  to  sea  when  the  selvaggio 
found  out  what  had  happened,  and  came  running  to  the 
same  cliff  where  she  had  stood,  and  made  signs  entreating 
her  to  come  back  ;  but  she  shook  the  handkerchief  she 
held  in  token  of  refusal. 

Then  what  did  he  do  ?  He  ran  back  to  the  den  and 
fetched  one  of  the  children  and  held  it  up,  appealing  to 


The  Satyrs.  317 

her  mother's  instincts;  but  she  always  continued  waving  the 
handkerchief  in  token  of  refusal.  When  he  saw  that  this 
prevailed  not,  he  ran  back  to  the  den  and  fetched  the  other 
child,  and  held  them  both  up  to  plead  with  her  to  come 
back.  But  she  always,  and  always,  went  on  waving  the 
handkerchief  in  token  of  refusal.  Then  what  did  he  do  ? 
He  took  out  his  knife  and  plunged  it  into  the  one  child, 
as  signifying  that  if  she  did  not  come  back  he  would  kill 
the  other  also.  But  even  for  that  she  was  not  moved, 
but  went  on  waving  the  handkerchief  in  token  of  refusal. 
Then  with  his  knife  he  killed  the  other  child,  for  he  had 
no  hope  left ;  but  she  could  not  go  back  to  that  life  with 
him,  and  went  on  waving  the  handkerchief  in  token  of 
refusal. 

Then  with  his  claw4  he  tore  open  his  breast,  and  tore 
out  his  heart,  and  died  for  the  love  he  bore  her. 

But  the  sailors  took  her  home,  and  they  were  richly 
rewarded,  and  there  was  great  rejoicing. 

2 
THE  SATYRS. 

THEY  say  there  was  a  queen  whose  husband  was  dead,  and 
she  had  one  only  son.  Imagine  how  devoted  she  was  to 
him,  her  only  child,  soon  to  be  the  king  of.  vast 
dominions. 

One  day  a  lady,  unknown  to  her,  came  and  asked  if 
she  might  put  a  horse  of  hers  in  her  stable. 

'  No,'  said  the  queen ;  '  I  cannot  have  the  horses  of 
anyone  else  mixed  up  there.' 

The  lady  turned  to  go ;  but  as  she  went,  she  met  the 
prince  coming  in  from  hunting,  surrounded  by  all  his 
suite.  The  lady  was  a  fairy,  and  in  her  indignation  at  the 
queen's  refusal  of  her  demand,  she  turned  the  prince  and 
all  those  following  him  into  salvatichi.5 

Imagine  the  horror  and  the  cries  of  the  queen  when 


3 1 8          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

she  saw  what  had  happened.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Much  as  she  adored  her  son,  it  was  impossible  to  keep 
him  in  the  palace  now. 

'  You  must  put  him  in  the  stables,'  said  the  cruel  fairy, 
who  had  waited  to  enjoy  her  revenge,  and  now  preserved 
her  coolness  amid  the  confusion  and  excitement  of  those 
around.  '  You  must  put  him  in  the  stables,  and  all  the 
others  too  now.  Your  stables  will  be  full  enough,  indeed  !' 

But  the  queen's  grief  was  too  deep  to  waste  itself  in  a 
strife  of  words  with  her. 

'  There  is  only  one  mode  of  redemption  for  him.  If 
he  can  find  a  maiden  to  consent  to  marry  him  as  he  is, 
without  knowing  he  is  a  pdnce,  I  will  come  and  remove 
the  spell.' 

The  queen  had  seen  the  proof  of  her  relentless  spirit, 
and  knew  it  would  be  vain  if  she  should  humble  herself 
to  entreat  her  to  alter  her  sentence.  So  she  said  nothing, 
and  the  fairy  went  away. 

To  find  a  maiden  who  should  consent  to  marry  such  a 
monster  as  her  son  now  was,  and  who  should  yet  be  meet 
to  be  his  wife  when  restored  to  his  due  estate,  was  a  hope- 
less task  indeed;  but  what  will  not  a  mother's  love 
attempt  ?  With  endless  fatigue  and  continued  mortifi- 
cations she  made  the  fruitless  effort  in  every  quarter. 
When  this  had  utterly  failed,  she  condescended  to  maidens 
of  lower  estate,  and  tried  daughters  of  merchants  and 
tradesmen,  and  even  peasants,  to  whom  the  elevation  of 
rank  might  in  some  measure  compensate  the  ill-conditioned 
union.  But  it  was  all  in  vain,  there  were  only  fresh 
repulses  and  deeper  mortifications. 

It  happened  that  adjoining  the  paddock  in  which  the 
stables  lay,  were  the  grounds  of  a  duke.  One  day  the 
duke's  daughter  was  walking  in  her  garden,  and  the  prince 
immediately  turned  his  head  and  saw  her,  and  began 
beckoning  to  her,  for  he  had  the  head  and  arms  and  body 
of  a  man  from  the  waist  upwards  still,  and  the  rest  of  him 


The  Satyrs.  319 

was  like  the  hindquarters  of  a  goat,  only  he  stood  upright, 
like  a  man.  The  duke's  daughter  was  perplexed,  however, 
at  the  sight  of  such  a  monster,  and  ran  away. 

Nevertheless  the  next  day  she  came  back,  and  the 
prince  beckoned  to  her  again,  and  all  his  suite,  who  were 
satyrs  like  himself,  beckoned  to  her  too,  till  at  last  she 
came  near. 

'  Do  you  wish  me  well  ? '  6  he  asked. 

'  No ! '  exclaimed  the  duke's  daughter  with  disgust, 
because  she  could  not  say  that  she  loved  him :  and  she  ran 
away.  Every  day  it  was  the  same  thing  ;  and  when  she 
told  her  mother  what  had  happened,  she  bid  her  keep 
away,  and  beware  of  going  near  such  a  monster. 

For  a  whole  month,  therefore,  she  kept  away  ;  but 
curiosity  overcame  her  at  last,  and  she  went  down  into  the 
garden  as  before.  All  the  satyrs  began  beckoning  as 
usual,  and  she  went  up  to  them. 

'  If  you  will  say  you  wish  me  well,  you  will  give  me 
endless  happiness,' 7  said  the  prince ;  '  and  if  not,  I  will  dash 
my  head  against  this  wall,  and  put  an  end  to  my  life.' 

He  was  so  much  in  earnest,  and  the  tears  were  in  his 
eyes,  and  his  sighs  and  entreaties  were  so  moving,  that  she 
almost  forgot  his  monstrous  form.  The  prince  observed 
that  her  face  betrayed  signs  of  interest,  and  he  redoubled 
his  sighs,  and  all  the  other  satyrs8  made  signs  and  gesticu- 
lations to  her  that  she  should  consent. 

'  Say  you  wish  me  well !  Let  me  just  have  the  happi- 
ness of  once  hearing  you  say  so  ! '  continued  the  prince. 

'  Poor  fellow,  he  seems  so  sad,  and  so  anxious  I  should 
just  say  it  once.  There  can't  be  much  harm  in  saying  just 
once  that  I  wish  him  well,'  said  the  maiden  to  herself. 

'  Say,  say  just  once,  that  you  wish  me  well ! '  persisted 
the  prince  ;  and  the  maiden  in  her  compassion  said : 

'  Yes  !  I  wish  you  well.' 

Immediately  the  fairy  appeared  and  took  the  spell  from 
off  the  prince,  and  from  off  all  his  suite. 


320          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

When  the  duke's  daughter  found  to  what  a  fine  hand- 
some prince  she  was  promised,  she  saw  her  compassion  was 
well  rewarded. 

1  '  You  know  what  a  "  selvaggio "  is,  I  suppose  ?  '  asked  the  narrator. 
'Yes;  a  wild  man,' I  answered,  thinking  of  the   German   myths.     'No, 
they  weren't  altogether  men,  they  were  those  creatures  there  used  to  be  in 
old  times,  half  men  with  legs  like  goats,  but  they  walked  on  two  legs,  and 
had  heads  and  arms  like  men."     After  this  description,  1  thought  I  might 
take  the  license  of  adopting  the  title  for  a  word  incidentally  used  by  the 
narrator  in  telling  the  story.     The  shepherds  and  goatherds  about  Rome 
with    their  goatskin  leggings  covering  leg  and  thigh,  readily  suggest  to 
the  eye  how  the  idea  of  a  satyr  may  have  first  arisen. 

2  '  Appassionata,'  '  of  a  broken  heart.' 

*  '  Ferraiuola,'  the  light  cloak  with  a  shoulderpiece  which  priests  wear 
out  of  doors  in  Rome  in  summer.  It  was  formerly  worn  by  others  besides 
priests. 

4  Sgramfia,  or  granfa  or  gramfia,  is  a  claw  of  a  beast,  or  of  a  bird  of  prey, 
most  often  used  for  the  latter.     I  hardly  know  how  this  came  to  be  ascribed 
to  a  satyr,  unless  she  meant  simply  that  his  nails  were  rather  strongly  de- 
veloped. 

5  Eazzarini  gives  '  salvatico  '  as  synonymous  with  '  satire.' 

6  '  Mi  volete  bene,'  literally,  only '  do  you  wish  me  well  ? '  but  the  accepted 
form  of  saying,  '  do  you  love  me  ? '  when  therefore  the  girl  says  the  words 
at  last  she  is  supposed  to  make  a  sort  of  compromise  by  means  of  which  she 
saves  the  prince  and  her  own  good  taste  at  the  same  time. 


AMADEA. 

AMADEA  was  a  beautiful  queen  who  fell  in  love  with  a  king 
not  of  her  own  country  ;  he  loved  her  too,  and  married 
her,  and  took  her  home.  But  the  king  her  father,  and 
the  prince  her  brother,  were  very  wroth  that  she  should 
go  away  with  the  stranger. 

When  Amadea  heard  that  her  brother  was  preparing  to 
prevent  her  going  away  with  her  husband,  she  turned  upon 
him  and  killed  him,  and  then  cut  his  body  in  pieces,  and 
threw  the  mangled  limbs  in  her  father's  way,  to  show  him 
what  he  might  expect  if  he  followed  after  her  too.  And 


Amadea.  321 

when  she  found  that  he  was  not  deterred  by  the  sight,  she 
turned  and  killed  him  in  like  manner. 

Only  fancy  what  a  woman  she  must  have  been  ! 

When  her  husband,  who  had  liked  her  before,  saw  this, 
he  began  to  be  afraid  of  her ;  nevertheless,  they  lived  for 
some  time  happily  together,  and  had  two  beautiful  chil- 
dren. But  after  that  again,  her  husband's  love  cooled 
towards  her  when  he  thought  of  the  horrors  she  had  com- 
mitted, and  he  took  their  two  children  and  went  away  and 
left  her. 

After  a  time  Amadea  not  only  found  out  where  he  was, 
but  found  out  that  she  had  a  rival.  Then  she  made  her  way 
to  the  place,  and  demanded  to  see  her  rival ;  but  knowing  of 
what  she  was  capable,  this  her  husband  would  by  no  means 
allow.  Then  she  prepared  a  most  beautiful  necklace  of 
pearls,  and  sent  it  as  a  present  to  her  rival.  But  she  had 
poisoned  it  by  her  arts,  for  she  was  a  sort  of  witch,  and 
when  her  rival  put  it  on  she  died. 

Meantime  she  had  sent  a  message  to  her  husband, 
saying,  '  If  I  may  not  come  to  your  court,  at  least  let  me 
see  my  children  for  one  hour,  and  then  I  will  go  away,  and 
molest  you  no  more  for  ever.' 

4  That  I  will  grant  you,'  was  his  answer ;  and  the  chil- 
dren were  brought  to  her. 

When  she  saw  her  children,  she  wept,  and  embraced 
them,  and  wept  again,  and  said  : 

'  Now,  my  children,  I  must  kill  you.' 

4  And  why  must  you  kill  us  ? '  asked  the  little  boy. 

«  Because  of  the  too  great  love  I  bear  you,'  she  replied, 
and  drew  out  her  dagger. 

At  that  instant  her  husband  came  into  the  room,  and 
she  stabbed  the  children  before  his  eyes.  After  that  she 
stabbed  herself,  and  he  died  of  grief. 

[It  was  about  the  time  that  Prince  Amadeo  gave  up  his  at- 
tempt to  hold  the  throne  of  Spain  that  I  was  visiting  a  poor 
T 


322          Ghost  and  Treasure  Stories,  &c. 

person  who  had  before  given  me  some  of  the  stories  of  this 
collection.  The  abdication  of  Prince  Amadeo  being  the  subject 
of  the  hour,  we,  of  course,  talked  about  that ;  when  she  said  : 
'Ah,  you  who  are  so  fond  of  favola,  do  you  know  thefavola  of 
Queen  Amadea,  for  one  name  brings  up  another  ?  '  I  told  her  I 
did  not ;  for  I  expected  she  meant  some  legend  of  the  House  of 
Savoy ;  she  then  told  me  the  story  of  Medeia  in  the  text.  It  is 
very  rare,  however,  to  meet  remnants  of  classical  traditions  in 
such  direct  form.] 


THE  KING   OF  PORTUGAL. 

THEY  say  that  once  there  was  a  king  of  Portugal  who  had 
a  beautiful  daughter,  and  there  came  a  prince  to  marry 
her.  When  the  prince  saw  how  old  and  feeble  the  king 
was,  he  seized  him,  and  shut  him  up  in  prison,  and  ordered 
him  to  be  fed  on  only  bread  and  water,  that  he  might  die 
without  killing  him.  '  And  then,'  he  said,  '  I  shall  take 
the  government.' 

Then  he  would  send  and  ask,  '  How  does  he  look  to- 
day ?  Does  he  grow  lean  and  pale  ?  Does  he  look  like 
to  die?' 

But  the  answer  ever  was,  '  Nay,  prince,  he  looks  hale 
and  stout.  Every  day  his  face  is  fresher  and  fatter. 
Every  day  he  seems  stronger  and  firmer.' 

Then  the  prince  grew  in  despair  of  ever  accomplishing 
his  design,  and  he  said,  '  It  cannot  be  as  you  say,  unless 
there  is  treachery,'  and  he  changed  the  guards,  and  set  a 
watch  upon  them  ;  but  the  same  thing  happened,  and  the 
old  king  continued  to  grow  stouter  and  stronger.  He 
made  them  search  the  princess,  too,  when  she  went  to  see 
her  father,  and  they  assured  themselves  that  she  took 
nothing  to  him.  Then  he  bade  them  watch  her,  and  they 
saw  that  she  placed  her  breast  against  the  prison  bars,  and 
fed  him  with  her  own  milk. 


The  King  of  Portugal,  323 

For  it  had  been  thus,  that  when  she  learnt  what  was 
the  design  of  the  prince,  she  was  filled  with  earnest  desire 
to  save  her  father's  life,  and  prayed  so  hard  that  she  might 
have  wherewith  to  support  him,  that,  young  girl  as  she 
was,  the  means  was  afforded  her,  and  thus  by  her  devotion 
she  preserved  him  in  life  and  health. 

When  the  prince  heard  what  she  did,  he  was  seized 
with  compunction,  and  sent  and  released  the  king,  and 
restored  him  to  his  throne,  and  went  his  way  in  shame. 
But  the  king  sent  for  him  back,  and  forgave  him :  he  gave 
him  his  daughter  also,  and  when  he  died  he  left  him  the 
succession  to  the  kingdom. 

['I  have  no  "  favole "  for  you  to-day,"  was  one  day  my 
greeting  from  an  old  lady  who  had  given  me  many,  '  but  there 
has  just  come  to  mind  a  "  bell'  fatto  "  (a  grand  deed),  which  is 
better  than  a  "  favola  "  for  it  is  historic  truth.'  Then  she  told 
me  the  story  in  the  text,  and  i  was  surprised  to  find  she  was 
positive  it  was  a  king  of  Portugal  and  that  she  never  seemed  to 
have  heard  of  the  '  Carita  Romana.'  It  is  odd  that  while  so 
many  legends  get  localised  any  should  get  dis-localised.] 


y  2 


CIARPE. 


THE  TWO  FRIARS.1 

Two  friars  once  went  out  on  a  journey,  that  is  to  say,  a  friar 
and  a  lay  brother.2  One  day  of  their  journey,  when  they 
were  far  from  their  convent,  the  friar  said  to  the  lay 
brother  :  '  We  fare  poorly  enough  all  the  days  of  our  life 
in  our  convent,  let  us,  for  one  day  of  our  lives,  taste  the 
good  things  of  this  world  which  others  enjoy  every  day.' 

'  You  know  better  than  I,  who  am  only  a  poor  simple 
lay  brother,'  answered  the  other,  'whether  such  a  thing 
may  be  done.  I  don't  mean  to  say  I  should  not  like  to 
have  a  jolly  good  dinner  for  once ;  but  there  is  the  uneasi- 
ness of  conscience  to  spoil  the  feast,  and  the  penance  after- 
wards. I  think  we  had  better  leave  it  alone.' 

They  journeyed  on,  therefore,  and  said  no  more  about  it 
that  day,  but  the  next,  when  they  were  very  hungry  after  a 
long  walk  through  the  cold  mountain  air,  the  scent  of  the 
viands  preparing  in  the  inn  as  they  drew  near  brought  the 
subject  of  yesterday's  conversation  to  their  minds  again, 
and  the  friar  said  to  the  lay  brother :  '  You  know  even  our 
rule  says  that  when  we  are  journeying  we  cannot  live  as 
we  do  in  our  convent ;  we  must  eat  and  drink  whatever  we 
find  in  the  places  to  which  we  are  sent ;  moreover,  some 
relaxation  is  allowed  for  the  restoration  of  the  body  under 
the  fatigues  of  the  journey.  Now,  if  we  come,  as  it  has 
often  happened  to  us,  to  a  poor  little  mountain  village, 
where  scarcely  a  wholesome  crust  of  bread  is  to  be  found, 
to  be  washed  down  with  a  glass  of  sour  wine,  we  have  to  take 
it  for  all  our  dinner,  and  eat  it  with  thanksgiving.  There- 
fore why,  now,  when  we  come  to  a  place  where  the  fare  is 
less  scanty,  even  as  by  the  odours  we  perceive  is  the  case 


328  Ciarpe. 

here,  should  we  not  also  take  what  is  found  ready,  and 
eat  it  with  thanksgiving  ?  ' 

'  What  you  say  seems  right  and  just  enough,'  said 
the  lay  brother,  not  at  all  sorry  to  have  his  scruples  so 
speciously  explained  away.  '  But  there  is  one  thing  you 
have  not  thought  of.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  we  will  eat 
and  drink  this  and  that,  but  how  are  we  poor  friars,  who 
possess  nothing,  to  command  the  delicacies  which  are 
smoking  round  the  fire,  and  which  have  to  be  paid  for  by 
well-stored  purses  ? ' 

'  Oh  !  that  is  not  the  difficulty,'  replied  the  friar ; 
'  leave  that  to  me.' 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  threshold  of  the 
inn,  and,  taking  his  companion's  last  feeble  resistance  for 
consent,  the  friar  strutted  into  the  eating-room  with  so 
bold  an  air  that  the  lay  brother  hardly  knew  him  for  the 
humble  religious  he  had  been  accompanying  anon. 

1  Ho !  here !  John,  Peter,  Francis,  whatever  you  are 
called!' 

'  Francesco,  to  your  service,'  replied  the  host  humbly, 
thinking  by  his  commanding  tone  he  must  be  some  son  of 
a  great  family. 

'  Francesco  guercino,3  then,'  continued  the  friar  in 
the  same  high-sounding  voice,  '  take  away  this  foul 
table-cloth,  and  bring  the  cleanest  and  finest  in  your 
house ;  remove  these  cloudy  glasses  and  bring  out  the 
bright  ones  you  have  there  locked  up  in  the  glass  case, 
and  replace  these  bone  spoons  and  forks 4  with  the  silver 
ones  out  of  your  strong  box.' 

1  Your  Excellency  is  served  ! ' 5  said  the  host,  who,  as 
well  as  his  wife  and  son,  had  bustled  so  fast  to  do  what  he 
was  so  peremptorily  ordered  that  all  was  done  as  soon  as 
spoken. 

'  Now  then  Francesco  guercino,  what  have  you  got 
to  put  before  a  hungry  gentleman  in  this  poor  little  place 
of  yours  ? ' 


The  Two  Friars.  329 

'  Excellenza !  when  you  have  tasted  the  cooking  of  my 
poor  little  house,'  said  the  host,  '  you  will  not,  I  am  sure, 
be  displeased ;  all  unworthy  as  it  is  of  your  Excellency's 
palate.  For  what  we  have  ready,  we  have  beef  for  our 
boiled  meat,  good  brains  for  our  fried,  the  plumpest 
poultry  for  our  grilled,  and  the  freshest  eggs  for  our 
omelette  ;  or,  if  your  Excellency  prefers  it,  we  have  hashed 
turkey,  with  crisp  watercresses ;  and  as  for  our  soup,6 
there  is  not  an  inn  in  the  whole  province  can  beat  us, 
I  know.  And  for  dessert  we  have  cheese  and  fruits, 
and' 

'  Well  done,  Francesco  guercinoj'  said  the  friar  inter- 
rupting him.  '  You  know  how  to  cry  your  own  wares,  at 
all  events.  Bring  us  the  best  of  what  you  have ;  it  is  not 
for  poor  friars  to  complain  of  what  is  set  before  us.' 

The  last  sentence  gave  the  host  a  high  idea  of  the  piety 
of  his  guest  just  as  the  hectoring  tone  he  had  assumed 
had  convinced  him  he  must  be  high-born,  and  in  a  trice 
the  best  of  everything  in  the  house  was  made  ready  for 
the  table  of  the  friar.  All  other  guests  had  to  wait,  or  go 
away  unserved ;  the  host  was  intent  only  on  serving  the 
friar. 

Every  dish  he  took  to  the  table  himself,  and  as  he  did 
so  each  time  the  friar,  fixing  on  him  a  look  of  sanctity, 
exclaimed, — 

'  Blessed  Francesco  !  Blessed  Francesco  ! ' 7 

At  the  close  of  the  meal,  as  he  was  hovering  about  the 
table,  nervously  wiping  away  a  crumb,  or  polishing  a 
plate,  he  said,  with  trembling : 

'  Excellenza  !  Permit  a  poor  man  to  put  one  question. 
What  is  there  you  see  about  me  that  makes  you  look  at 
me  as  though  you  saw  happiness  in  store,  and  exclaim 
with  so  much  unction  as  quite  to  fill  me  with  joy, 
"  Blessed  Francesco  ! "  ? ' 

'  True,  something  I  see  wherefore  I  call  thee  blessed,' 
replied  the  friar;  'but  I  cannot  tell  it  thee  now.  To- 


330  Ciarpe. 

morrow,  perhaps,  I  may  find  it  easier.  Impossible  now, 
friend.  Now,  pray  thee,  show  us  our  rooms.' 

It  needed  not  to  add  any  injunctions  concerning  the 
rooms  ;  of  course,  the  cleanest  and  the  best  were  appointed 
by  Francesco  spontaneously  for  such  honoured  guests. 

'  How  do  you  think  we  are  getting  on  ? '  said  the  friar 
to  the  lay  brother  when  they  were  alone. 

1  Excellently  well  so  far,'  replied  the  other ;  '  things 
have  passed  my  lips  this  night  which  never  have  they 
tasted  before,  nor  ever  may  again.  But  the  reckoning, 
the  reckoning ;  that  is  what  puzzles  me :  when  it  comes 
to  paying  the  bill,  what'll  you  do  then  ?  ' 

'  Leave  it  all  to  me,'  returned  the  friar ;  *  I'm  quite 
satisfied  with  the  man  we  have  to  deal  with.  It  will  all 
come  right,  never  fear.' 

The  next  morning  the  two  brothers  were  astir  betimes, 
but  Francesco  was  on  the  look-out  to  serve  them. 

'Excellenza!  you  will  not  leave  without  breakfast, 
Excellenza ! ' 

'  Yes,  Francesco ;  poor  friars  must  not  mind  going 
without  breakfast.' 

'  Never,  from  my  house,  Excellenza  ! '  responded  Fran- 
cesco. '  I  have  the  table  ready  with  a  bottle  of  wine 
freshly  drawn  from  the  cellar,  eggs  that  were  born  8  since 
daylight,  only  waiting  your  appearance  to  be  boiled,  rolls 
this  moment  drawn  from  the  oven,  and  my  wife  is  at  the 
stove  preparing  a  fried  dish  9  fit  for  a  king.' 

'  Too  much,  too  much,  Francesco !  You  spoil  us  ;  we 
are  not  used  to  such  things,'  said  the  lay  brother  as  they 
sat  down ;  but  Francesco  had  flown  into  the  kitchen,  and 
returned  with  the  dish. 

'  Blessed  Francesco  ! '  said  the  friar  as  he  set  it  on  the 
table. 

'  I  will  not  disturb  your  Excellency  now,'  said  Fran- 
cesco ;  '  but,  after  you  have  breakfasted,  I  crave  your 
remembrance  of  your  promise  of  last  night,  that  you 


TJie  Two  Friars.  331 

would  reveal  to  me  this  morning  wherefore  you  say  with 
such  enthusiasm  "  Blessed  Francesco  !  " ' 

'  It  is  not  time  to  speak  of  it  now,'  said  the  friar ; 
'  first  we  have  our  reckoning  to  make.' 

The  lay  brother  hid  his  face  in  his  table-napkin  in 
terror,  and  seemed  to  be  seized  with  a  distressing  fit  of 
coughing. 

'  Oh,  don't  speak  of  the  reckoning,  Excellenza  ;  that  is 
as  nothing.' 

'Nay,'  said  the  friar;  'that  must  not  be;'  and  he 
made  a  gesture  as  if  he  would  have  drawn  out  a  purse, 
while  under  the  table  he  had  to  press  his  feet  against 
those  of  the  lay  brother  to  silence  his  rising  remonstrance 
for  his  persistence. 

'  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  anything  from  your  Ex- 
cellenza,' persisted  the  host,  putting  his  hands  behind 
him  that  no  money  might  be  forced  upon  him. 

The  more  stedfastly  he  refused  the  more  perseveringly 
the  friar  continued  to  press  the  payment,  till,  with  his 
companion,  he  had  gained  the  threshold  of  the  door. 

As  they  were  passing  out,  however,  the  host  once  more 
exclaimed,  ;  But  the  explanation  your  Excellency  was  to 
give  me  of  why  you  said  "  Blessed  Francesco  ! " ' 

'  Impossible,  friend  ;  I  cannot  tell  it  here.  Wait  till 
I  have  gained  the  height  of  yonder  mound,  while  you 
stand  at  its  foot,  and  I  will  tell  it  you  from  thence.' 

With  this  they  parted. 

When  the  friar  and  his  companion  had  reached  the 
height  he  had  pointed  out,  and  were  at  a  sufficient  dis- 
tance to  be  saved  the  fear  of  pursuit,  he  turned  to  the 
host,  who  stood  gaping  at  the  bottom,  and  said : 

'  Lucky  for  you,  Francesco,  that  when  you  come  to 
die  you  will  only  have  the  trouble  of  shutting  one  eye, 
instead  of  two,  like  other  men.' 10 

1  Though  I  believe  there  is  no  rule  or  ground  for  the  distinction,  in 
conversational  language,  '  fratello '  is  used  for  '  brother,'  and  '  frate '  for 


332  Ciarpe. 


'  monk '  (as  '  sorella '  usually  means  any  sister  and  '  suora '  a  nun).  '  Frate,' 
again,  is  usually,  though  not  by  any  rule,  or  exclusively,  reserved  for  the 
mendicant  Franciscans.  A  Capuchin  is  called  '  padre  cappucino,'  and  a 
Dominican,  generally,  a  '  padre  domenicano.' 

2  'Laico.' 

1  'Guercino.'  There  is  no  very  definitely  expressed  distinction  in 
Italian  in  the  way  of  saying  -weak-sighted,  or  one-eyed,  or  squinting ; 
'  guercio '  is  used  to  express  alL  The  termination  '  ino '  here  is  not  an 
actual  diminutive,  but  means  '  he  who  is  one-eyed,'  or  'he  who  is  weak- 
sighted,'  or  '  he  who  squints,"  with  an  implied  expression  of  sympathy 
(see  Note  5,  p.  379).  In  this  case  the  conclusion  shows  that  '  one-eyed  ' 
was  intended. 

4  '  Posate,'  plural  of  '  posata,'  knife,  fork,  and  spoon. 

5  '  Ecco  serrito,  Excellenza.'     '  It  is  all  done  as  you  desire.' 

•  The  poor,  badly  fed  themselves,  delight  to  dilate  on  a  description  of 
good  living,  just  as  dreaming  of  eating  is  said  to  arise  from  a  condition  of 
hunger.     I  have  not  added  a  word  here  in  the  text  to  those  of  the  narrator 
of  the  story,  and  her  enumeration  is  a  very  fair  rendering  of  the  usual 
repertory  of  a  Roman  innkeeper.     Broth  or  thin  soup  ('  minestra ')  ;  a  dish 
of  boiled  meat  ('  lesso '),  of  '  arrosto,'  that  is,  grilled  or  baked,  and  of  '  fritto ' 
(fried)  is  the  regular  course  :  'gallinaccio  spezzatb'  is  a  turkey  cut  up  in 
joints  and  served  with  various  sauces,  and  is  much  more  esteemed  than  if 
cooked  whole,  a  rather  unusual   dish;    'frittata,'   omelette;  'crescione,' 
watercresses. 

7  '  Beato  a  te,  Francesco.' 

8  '  Born,'  an  Italianism  for  '  laid.' 

•  '  Fritto  dorato.'     Eomans,  though  not  eminent  in  the  culinary  art,  fry 
admirably.      They  always   succeed  in   making  their  fried  dishes  a  rich 
golden  colour,  and  they  ordinarily  express  a  fried  dish  by  the  two  words 
together, '  fritto  dorato.' 

1  Beato  a  te,  Francesco, 
Che  quando  morirai 
Un  occhio  serrerai 
E  1'altro  no ! ' 

[Such  a  story  at  the  expense  of  a  single  unworthy  monk 
contains  no  implied  taunt  at  the  religious  orders,  who  are  deeply 
honoured  in  Rome,  and  none  more  than  the  mendicant  Fran- 
ciscans, most  of  whom  are  themselves  of  the  rery  people.  Ever 
since  the  invasion  of  September  20,  1870,  every  effort  has  been 
used  to  stir  up  the  people  against  them,  but  with  little  effect.  At 
the  last  Carneval  the  most  elaborate  car  was  got  up  with  the  pur- 
pose of  ridiculing  them,  but  it  met  with  no  approval,  except  from 
members  of  the  clubs.  The  narrator  of  the  story  was  herself 


The  Preface  of  a  Franciscan.  333 

not  only  a  devoted  member  of  the  Church,  but  had  a  relative  in 
the  order  of  St.  Francis,  nor  did  she  tell  it  without  an  edifying 
exordium  on  the  goodness  of  the  frati  in  general,  though  there 
must  be  unworthy  members  of  all  professions.  Facetiae  of  this 
class  are  much  rarer  in  Rome  than  in  Spain.] 


THE  PREFACE  OF  A  FRANCISCAN. 

A  FRANCISCAN  friar  was  travelling  on  business  of  his  order 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  three  brigands,  who  stole  from 
him  his  ass,  his  saddle,  and  his  doubloons.  Moreover,  they 
told  him  that  if  he  informed  any  man  of  what  they  had 
done  they  would  certainly  come  after  him  again  and  take 
his  life ;  for  they  could  only  sell  the  ass  and  the  saddle  that 
were  known  to  be  his  by  representing  that  he  had  sold 
them  to  them,  otherwise  no  one  would  have  bought  them. 

The  friar  told  no  man  what  had  happened  to  him,  for 
fear  of  losing  his  life  ;  yet  he  knew  that  if  he  could  only 
let  his  parishioners  know  what  had  occurred,  they  would 
soon  retake  for  him  all  that  he  had  lost. 

So  he  hit  on  the  following  expedient :  next  Sunday, 
as  he  was  saying  Mass,  when  he  came  to  the  place  in  the 
Preface  where  special  additions  commemorative  of  the 
particular  festivals  are  inserted,  after  the  enumeration  of 
the  praises  of  Grod,  he  added  the  words,  l  Nevertheless, 
me,  Thy  poor  servant,  evil  men  have  robbed  of  my  ass  and 
her  saddle,  and  all  my  doubloons  ;  but  to  no  man  have  I 
declared  the  thing,  save  unto  Thee  only,  Omnipotent 
Father,  who  knowest  all  things,  and  helpest  the  poor ; ' 
and  then  he  went  on,  '  et  ideo  cum  angelis  et  arch- 
angelis,'  &C.1 

The  parishioners  were  no  sooner  thus  informed  of  what 
had  occurred,  than  they  went  after  the  brigands  and  made 
them  give  up  all  they  had  taken.  The  next  time,  there- 
fore, the  father  was  out  in  the  Campagna,  the  brigands 
came  after  him  and  said  : 


334  Ciarpe. 

'  Now,  we  take  your  life ;  last  time  we  let  you  off, 
saying  we  would  spare  you  if  you  told  no  man  what  we 
had  done ;  but  you  cannot  keep  your  own  counsel,  so 
you  must  die  like  the  rest.' 

But  the  good  monk  showed  them  that  he  had  not 
spoken  to  man  of  the  thing,  but  had  only  lamented  his 
loss  before  Grod,  which  every  man  was  free  to  do.  And 
the  brigands,  when  they  heard  that,  could  say  nothing, 
and  they  let  him  go  by  uninjured,  him  and  his  beast. 

1  The  merit  of  this  story  consists  much  in  the  mode  of  telling.  The 
narrator  should  be  able  to  imitate  the  peculiar  tone  to  which  the  '  Preface ' 
is  sung,  and  to  supply  the  corresponding  notes  for  the  additional  insertion. 
It  was  very  effectively  done  by  the  person  who  told  it  to  me. 

[Such  stories  are  the  result  of  a  household  familiarity  with 
sacred  matters,  and  are  told  with  genuine  fun  without  the  least 
infusion  of  irreverence.  Just  as  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  heart 
the  mouth  speaks,  even  so  we  make  jokes  on  whatever  subject 
we  are  most  occupied  with.  Religious  offices  are  so  much  a 
part  of  the  daily  life  of  the  Catholic  poor  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  banish  the  language  of  them  from  their  simple  jokes. 
I  have  had  numbers  of  such  told  me  without  the  least  expression 
that  could  be  called  scoffing  in  the  teller  ;  but  I  forbear  to  give 
more  than  the  two  or  three  in  the  text  by  way  of  specimens, 
lest  the  spirit  of  them  should  be  misjudged.] 


THE  LENTEN  PREACHER. 

A  FRIAK  came  to  preach  the  Lenten  sermons  in  a  country 
place.  The  wife  of  a  rich  peasant  sat  under  the  pulpit, 
and  thought  all  the  time  what  a  nice-looking  man  he 
was,  instead  of  listening  to  his  exhortations  to  penance. 

When  the  sermon  was  over  she  went  home  and  took 
out  half-a-dozen  nice  fine  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  sent 
them  to  him  by  her  maid,  with  a  very  civil  note  to  beg 
him  to  come  and  see  her. 


The  Lenten  Preacher.  335 

As  the  maid  was  going  out,  the  husband  met  her. 

'  Where  are  you  going  ? '  said  he. 

The  maid,  who  did  not  at  all  like  her  errand,  promised 
if  he  would  not  be  angry  with  her,  and  would  not  let  her 
mistress  know  it,  she  would  tell  him  all. 

The  husband  promised  to  hold  her  harmless,  and  she 
gave  him  the  handkerchiefs  and  the  note. 

4  Come  here,'  said  the  husband  ;  and  he  took  her  into 
his  room  and  wrote  a  note  as  if  from  the  friar,  saying 
he  was  much  obliged  by  her  presents,  and  would  Iik6 
to  see  the  lady  very  much,  but  that  it  was  impossible 
they  could  meet,  so  she  must  not  think  of  it.  This 
note  the  maid  took  back  to  her  mistress  as  if  from  the 
friar. 

A  few  days  after  this  the  husband  gave  out  that  he 
would  have  to  go  to  a  fair,  and  would  be  away  two  or  three 
days.  Immediately  the  wife  took  a  pound  of  the  best 
snuff  and  sent  it  as  a  present  to  the  friar  by  the  same 
maid  with  another  note,  saying  the  husband  was  going 
away  on  such  an  evening,  and  if  he  then  came  to  see  her 
at  an  hour  after  the  Ave  he  would  find  the  door  open. 
This  also  the  maid  took  to  her  master ;  the  husband  took 
the  snuff  and  wrote  an  answer,  as  if  from  the  friar,  to  say 
he  would  keep  the  appointment.  In  the  evening  he  said 
good-bye  to  his  wife,  and  went  away.  But  he  went  to  the 
butcher  and  bought  a  stout  beef  sinew,  and  at  the  hour 
appointed  for  the  friar,  he  came  back  dressed  as  a  friar, 
and  beat  her  with  the  beef  sinew  till  she  was  half  dead. 
Then  he  went  down  in  the  kitchen  and  sent  the  servant 
up  to  heal  her,  and  went  away  for  three  days.  When  he 
came  back  the  wife  was  still  doubled  up,  and  suffering 
from  the  beating. 

4  What  is  the  matter  ? '  he  said,  sympathisingly. 

'  Oh  !  I  fell  down  the  cellar  stairs.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  leaving  your  mistress  to  go 
down  to  the  cellar  ? '  he  cried  out  to  the  servant,  with 


336  Ciarpe. 

great  solicitude.  'How  can  you  allow  her  to  do  such 
things  ?  What's  the  use  of  you  ? ' 

«  Don't  scold  the  servant,'  answered  the  wife;  'it  wasn't 
her  fault.  I  shall  be  all  right  soon.'  And  she  made  as 
light  of  her  ailment  as  she  could,  to  keep  him  from  asking 
her  any  more  questions.  But  he  was  discreet  enough  to  say 
no  more. 

Only  when  she  was  well  again  he  sent  to  the  friar  and 
asked  him  to  come  home  to  dine  with  them. 

'  My  wife  is  subject  to  odd  fancies  sometimes,'  he  said, 
as  they  walked  home.  '  If  she  should  do  anything  extra- 
vagant, don't  you  mind ;  I  shall  be  there  to  call  her  to 
order.' 

Then  he  told  the  servant  to  bring  in  the  soup  and  the 
boiled  meat  without  waiting  for  orders,  but  to  keep  the 
grill  back  till  he  came  to  the  kitchen  door  to  call  her. 

At  the  time  for  the  grill,  therefore,  he  got  up  from 
table  to  go  and  call  her,  and  thus  left  his  wife  and  the 
friar  alone  together.  They  were  no  sooner  alone  than  she 
got  up,  and  calling  him  a  horrid  friar,  gave  him  a  sound 
drubbing.  The  husband  came  back  in  time  to  prevent 
mischief,  and  to  make  excuses ;  and  finding  she  was  cured 
of  her  affection,  said  no  more  of  the  affair. 


ASS  OR  PIG.1 

A  COUNTRYMAN  was  going  along  driving  a  pig  before  him. 
'  Let's  have  a  bit  of  fun  with  that  fellow,'  said  the  brother 
porter  of  a  monastery  to  the  father  guardian,2  as  they  saw 
him  coming  along  the  road.  '  I'll  call  his  pig  an  ass,  and 
of  course  he'll  say  it's  a  pig ;  then  I  shall  laugh  at  him 
for  not  knowing  better,  and  he  will  grow  angry.  Then 
I'll  say,  "  Well,  will  you  have  the  father  guardian  to  settle 
the  dispute  ?  and  if  he  decides  I'm  right  I  shall  keep  the 
beast  for  myself."  Then  you  come  and  say  it  is  an  ass, 
and  we'll  keep  it.' 


AssorPig.  337 

The  father  guardian  agreed,  with  a  hearty  laugh ;  and 
as  soon  as  the  countryman  came  up  the  brother  porter  did 
all  as  he  had  arranged. 

The  countryman  was  so  sure  of  his  case  that  he 
willingly  submitted  to  the  arbitration  of  the  father  guar- 
dian; but  great  was  his  dismay  when  the  father  guardian 
decided  against  him,  and  he  had  to  go  home  without  his 

Pig- 
But  what  did  the  countryman  do  ?  He  dressed  him- 
self up  as  a  poor  girl,  and  about  nightfall,  and  a  storm 
coming  on,  he  rang  at  the  bell  of  the  monastery  and 
entreated  the  charity  of  shelter  for  the  night. 

'  Impossible ! '  said  the  brother  porter ;  '  we  can't  have 
any  womenkind  in  here.' 

'  But  the  dark,  and  the  storm  ! '  clamoured  the  pre- 
tended girl ;  '  think  of  that.  You  can't  leave  me  out  here 
all  alone.' 

'  I'm  very  sorry,'  said  the  porter,  '  but  the  thing's  im- 
possible. I  can't  do  it.' 

The  good  father  guardian,  hearing  the  dispute  at  that 
unusual  hour,  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  asked 
what  it  was  all  about. 

1  It  is  a  difficult  case,  brother  porter,'  he  said  when  he 
had  heard  the  girl's  request.  '  If  we  take  her  in  we  in- 
fringe our  rule  in  one  way ;  if  we  leave  her  exposed  to 
every  kind  of  peril  we  sin  against  its  spirit  in  another 
direction.  I  only  see  one  way  out  of  it.  I  can't  send  her 
into  any  of  your  cells ;  but  I  will  let  her  pass  the  night 
in  mine,  provided  she  is  content  not  to  undress,  and  will 
consent  to  sit  up  in  a  chair.' 

This  was  exactly  what  the  countryman  wanted,  there- 
fore he  gave  a  ready  assent,  and  the  father  guardian  took 
him  up  into  his  cell.  The  pretended  girl  sat  up  in  a 
chair  quietly  enough  through  the  dark  of  the  night,  but 
when  morning  began  to  dawn,  out  came  a  stick  that  had 
been  hidden  under  the  petticoats,  and  whack,  whack 3 — a 
z 


338  Ciarpe. 

fine  drubbing  the  poor  father  guardian  got,  to  the  tune  of 
— '  So  you  think  I  don't  know  a  pig  from  an  ass,  do  you  ? ' 

When  he  had  well  bruised  him  all  over,  the  country- 
man made  the  best  of  his  way  downstairs,  and  off  and  away 
he  was  before  anyone  could  catch  him. 

The  next  day  what  did  he  do  ?  He  dressed  up  like  a 
doctor,  and  came  round  asking  if  anyone  had  any  ailments 
to  cure. 

'  That's  just  the  thing  fbr  us,'  said  the  brother  porter 
to  himself  as  he  saw  him  come  by.  '  The  father  guardian 
was  afraid  to  let  the  doctor  of  the  neighbourhood  attend 
him,  for  fear  of  the  scandal  of  all  the  story  coming  out ; 
the  strange  doctor  will  just  do,  as  there  is  no  need  to  tell 
him  anything.' 

The  countryman  in  his  new  disguise,  therefore,  was 
taken  up  to  the  father  guardian's  cell. 

'  There's  nothing  very  much  the  matter,'  he  said  when 
he  had  examined  the  wounds  and  bruises ;  '  it  might  all 
be  set  right  in  a  day  by  a  certain  herb,'  which  he  named. 

The  herb  was  a  difficult  one  to  find,  but  as  it  was  so 
important  to  get  the  father  guardian  cured  immediately, 
before  any  inquiry  should  be  raised  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
sufferings,  the  whole  community  set  out  to  wander  over 
the  Campagna  in  search  of  it. 

As  soon  as  they  were  a  good  way  off,  the  pretended 
doctor  took  out  a  thick  stick  which  he  held  concealed 
under  his  long  robe,  and  whack,  whack — belaboured  the 
poor  father  guardian  more  terribly  even  than  before,  to 
the  tune  of — '  So  you  think  I  don't  know  an  ass  from  a 
pig,  do  you  ?  ' 

How  far  soever  the  brothers  were  gone,  his  cries  were 
so  piteous  that  they  recalled  them,  but  not  till  the  coun- 
tryman had  made  good  his  escape. 

*  We  have  sinned,  my  brethren,'  said  the  father  guar- 
dian when  they  were  all  gathered  round  him  ;  '  and  I  have 
suffered  justly  for  it.  We  had  no  right  to  take  the  man's 


The  Seven  Clodhoppers.  339 

pig,  even  for  a  joke.  Let  it  now,  therefore,  be  restored 
to  him,  and  in  amends  let  there  be  given  him  along  with 
it  an  ass  also.' 

So  the  countryman  got  his  pig  back,  and  a  donkey  into 
the  bargain. 

1  '  Asino  o  porco.' 

*  '  Padre  Guardiano  '  is  the  ordinary  title  of  the  Superior  in  Franciscan 
convents. 

8  '  Zicherte  !  Zacherte  ! ' 


THE  SEVEN  CLODHOPPERS.1 

SEVEN  clodhoppers  went  to  confession. 

*  Father,  I  stole  something,'  said  the  first. 
1  What  was  it  you  stole  ? '  asked  the  priest. 

'  Some  mistuanza,2  because  I  was  starving,'  replied 
the  country  bumpkin. 

That  the  poor  fellow,  who  really  looked  as  if  he  might 
have  been  starving,  should  have  stolen  some  herbs  did  not 
seem  such  a  very  grave  offence ;  so  with  due  advice  to 
keep  his  hands  from  picking  and  stealing,  and  a  psalm  to 
say  for  his  penance,  the  priest  sent  him  to  communion. 

Then  came  the  second,  and  there  was  the  same 
dialogue.  Then  the  third  and  the  fourth,  till  all  the 
seven  had  been  up. 

At  last  the  priest  began  to  think  it  was  a  very  odd 
circumstance  that  such  a  number  of  full-grown  men  should 
all  of  a  sudden  have  taken  into  their  heads  to  go  stealing 
salad  herbs ;  and  when  the  seventh  had  had  his  say  he  re- 
joined,— 

*  But  what  do  you  mean  by  mistuanza  ? ' 

1  Oh,  any  mixture  of  things,'  replied  the  countryman. 
'  Nay ;  that's  not  the  way  we  use  the  word,'  responded 
the  priest ;  '  so  tell  me  what  "  things  "  you  mean.' 

*  Oh,  some  cow,  some  pig,  and  some  fowl.' 3 

z  2 


34-O  Ciarpe. 

'  You  men  of  the  mistuanza ! '  shouted  the  priest  in 
righteous  indignation,  starting  out  of  the  confessional ; 
'  Come  back  !  come  back  !  you  can't  go  to  communion  like 
that.' 

The  seven  clodhoppers,  finding  themselves  discovered, 
began  to  fear  the  rigour  of  justice,  and  decamped  as  fast 
as  they  could. 

1  '  I  sette  Villani.' 

2  '  Un  po'  di  mistuanza.'     '  Mistuanza '  is  a   word  in  use  among  the 
poor  for  a  mixture  of  herbs  of  which  they  make  a  kind  of  poor  salad. 

3  '  Un  po'  di  bove,  un  po'  di  porchi,  un  po'  di  galline.' 

'  Un  po '  (un  poco)  a  little.  The  effect  of  the  story  depended  a  good 
deal  on  the  tones  of  voice  in  which  it  was  told.  The  deprecatory  tone  of 
the  penitent  as  he  says,  '  un  po'  di  bove,'  &c.,  and  the  horror  of  the  priest 
as  he  cries  out,  '  Signori  della  mistuanza  ! ' 

This  same  story  in  quite  another  dress  was  told  me  one  evening  in 
Aldershot  Camp ;  and  as  it  is  a  very  curious  instance  of  the  migration  of 
myths,  I  give  the  home  version, 

'  It  would  seem  that  in  Aldershot  lingo,  or  in  the  lingo  of  a  certain 
regiment  once  stationed  there,  to  '  kill  a  fox '  means  to  get  drunk.  Possibly 
the  expression  was  acquired  during  the  Peninsular  war,  as  '  tomar  una 
zorrilla'  has  an  equivalent  meaning  in  Spanish.  The  story  was  this.  Once 
during  the  brief  holiday  of  the  chaplain  of  the  regiment,  a  French  priest 
who  knew  a  little  English  took  his  place.  At  confession  the  chief  fault  of 
which,  according  to  the  story,  the  men  accused  themselves  was  that  they 
had  '  killed  a  fox,'  an  expression  perfectly  well  understood  by  their  own 
pastor.  The  good  French  priest,  however,  instead  of  being  shocked  at 
finding  how  often  men  got  drunk,  was  highly  edified  at  the  angelic  sim- 
plicity of  these  Angles,  who  showed  so  much  contrition  for  having  indulged 
in  the  innocent  pastime — in  France,  not  even  an  offence  among  sportsmen 
— of  having  killed  a  fox. 

At  last  there  came  one  of  a  more  humorous  turn  of  mind  than  the  rest, 
and  the  surnois  air  with  which  he  pronounced  the  expression  revealed  to 
the  good  Frenchman  that  the  words  meant  something  more  than  they  said. 

'  Vat  mean  you  ven  you  say,  "  kill  de  fox  ?  " '  now  inquired  the  French- 
man of  his  penitent  with  fear  and  trembling.  And  the  blunt  soldier  had 
no  sooner  expounded  the  slang  than  the  bewildered  foreigner  threw  open 
the  front  wicket  of  the  confessional  and  cried  aloud : 

'  Come  back !  all  you  dat  have  killed  de  foxes  !  Come  back  !  come 
back!' 

[Next  to  gossiping  jokes  on  subjects  kindred  to  religion  are 
jokes  about  domestic  disputes,  the  greater  blame  being  generally 
ascribed  to  the  wife.] 


The  Little  Bird.  341 


THE  LITTLE  BIRD.1 

THERE  was  an  old  couple  who  earned  a  poor  living  by 
working  hard  all  day  in  the  fields. 

'  See  how  hard  we  work  all  day/  said  the  wife ;  '  and 
it  all  comes  of  the  foolish  curiosity  of  Adam  and  Eve. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  that  we  should  have  been  living 
now  in  a  beautiful  garden,  with  nothing  to  do  all  day 
long.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  husband  ;  '  if  you  and  I  had  been  there, 
instead  of  Adam  and  Eve,  all  the  human  race  had  been  in 
Paradise  still.' 

The  count,  their  master,  overheard  them  talking  in 
this  way,  and  he  came  to  them  and  said  :  '  How  would  you 
like  it  if  I  took  you  up  into  my  palazzo  there,  to  live 
and  gave  you  servants  to  wait  on  you,  and  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink  ? ' 

«  Oh,  that  would  be  delightful  indeed  !  That  would 
be  as  good  as  Paradise  itself ! '  answered  husband  and  wife 
together. 

'  Well,  you  may  come  up  there  if  you  think  so.  Only 
remefther,  in  Paradise  there  was  one  tree  that  was  not  to 
be  touched  ;  so  at  my  table  there  will  be  one  dish  not  to 
be  touched.  You  mustn't  mind  that,'  said  the  count. 

«  Oh,  of  course  'not,'  replied  the  old  peasant ;  « that's 
just  what  I  say :  when  Eve  had  all  the  fruits  in  the  gar- 
den, what  did  she  want  with  just  that  one  that  was  for- 
bidden ?  And  if  we,  who  are  used  to  the  scantiest  victuals, 
are  supplied  with  enough  to  live  well,  what  does  it  matter 
to  us  whether  there  is  an  extra  dish  or  not  on  the  table  ? ' 

'  Very  well  reasoned,'  said  the  count.  '  We  quite  un- 
derstand each  other,  then  ? ' 

'  Perfectly,'  replied  both  husband  and  wife. 

'  You  come  to  live  at  my  palace,  and  have  everything 
you  can  want  there,  so  long  as  you  don't  open  one  dish2 


342  Ciarpe. 

which  there  will  be  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  If  you 
open  that  you  go  back  to  your  former  way  of  life.' 

4  We  quite  understand,'  answered  the  peasants. 

The  count  went  in  and  called  his  servant,  and  told  him 
to  give  the  peasants  an  apartment  to  themselves,  with 
everything  they  could  want,  and  a  sumptuous  dinner, 
only  in  the  middle  of  the  table  was  to  be  an  earthen  dish, 
into  which  he  was  to  put  a  little  bird  alive,  so  that  if  one 
lifted  the  cover  the  bird  would  fly  out.  He  was  to  stay 
in  the  room  and  wait  on  them,  and  report  to  him  what 
happened. 

The  old  people  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  praised  every- 
thing they  saw,  so  delightful  it  all  seemed. 

'  Look  !  that's  the  dish  we're  not  to  touch,'  said  the  wife. 

'  No  ;  better  not  look  at  it,'  said  the  husband. 

'  Pshaw !  there's  no  danger  of  wanting  to  open  it,  when 
we  have  such  a  lot  of  dishes  to  eat  our  fill  out  of,'  returned 
the  wife. 

So  they  set  to,  and  made  such  a  repast  as  they  had 
never  dreamed  of  before.  By  degrees,  however,  as  the 
novelty  of  the  thing  wore  off,  they  grew  more  and  more 
desirous  for  something  newer  and  newer  still.  Though 
when  they  at  first  sat  down  it  had  seemed  that  two  dishes 
would  be  ample  to  satisfy  them,  they  had  now  had  seven 
or  eight  and  they  were  wishing  there  might  be  others 
coming.  There  is  an  end  to  all  things  human,  and  no 
other  came  ;  there  only  remained  the  earthen  dish  in  the 
middle  of  the  table. 

'  We  might  just  lift  the  lid  up  a  little  wee  bit,'  said 
the  wife. 

'  No  ;  dont  talk  about  it,'  said  the  husband. 

The  wife  sat  still  for  five  minutes,  and  then  she  said  : 
'  If  one  just  lifted  up  one  corner  of  the  lid  it  could  scarcely 
be  called  opening  it,  you  know.' 

1  Better  leave  it  alone  altogether,  and  not  think  about 
it  at  all,'  said  the  husband. 


The  Devil  who  took  to  Himself  a  Wife.     343 

The  wife  sat  still  another  five  minutes,  and  then  she 
said  :  '  If  one  peeped  in  just  the  least  in  the  world  it  would 
not  be  any  harm,  surely  ;  and  I  should  so  like  to  know 
what  there  can  possibly  be.  Now,  what  can  the  count 
have  put  in  that  dish  ?  ' 

'  I'm  sure  I  can't  guess  in  the  least,'  said  the  husband ; 
'  and  I  must  say  I  can't  see  what  it  can  signify  to  him  if 
we  did  look  at  it.' 

'  No  ;  that's  what  I  think.  And  besides,  how  would 
he  know  if  we  peeped  ?  it  wouldn't  hurt  him,'  said  the 
wife. 

'  No  ;  as  you  say,  one  could  just  take  a  look,'  said  the 
husband. 

The  wife  didn't  want  more  encouragement  than  that. 
But  when  she  lifted  one  side  of  the  lid  the  least  mite  she 
could  see  nothing.  She  opened  it  the  least  mite  more, 
and  the  bird  flew  out.  The  servant  ran  and  told  his 
master,  and  the  count  came  down  and  drove  them  out, 
bidding  them  never  complain  of  Adam  and  Eve  any  more. 

1  '  L'uccelletto,'  the  little  bird. 

2  '  Terrino,'  a  high  earthen  dish  with  a  cover,  probably  the  origin  of 
our  '  tureen,'  almost  the  only  kind  of  Italian  dish  that  ever  has  a  cover. 


THE  DEVIL    WHO   TOOK  TO  HIMSELF  A    WIFE.1 

LISTEN,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  the  devil  did  who  took 
to  himself  a  wife. 

Ages  and  ages  ago,  in  the  days  when  the  devil  was 
loose — for  now  he  is  chained  and  can't  go  about  like  that 
any  more — the  head  devil 2  called  the  others,  and  said, 
4  Whichever  of  you  proves  himself  the  boldest  and  cleverest, 
I  will  give  him  his  release,  and  set  him  free  from  Inferno.' 

So  they  all  set  to  work  and  did  all  manner  of  wild 
and  terrible  things,  and  the  one  who  pleased  the  head 
devil  best  was  set  free. 


344  Ciarpe. 

This  devil  being  set  free,  went  upon  earth,  and  thought 
he  would  live  like  the  children  of  men.  So  he  took  a 
wife,  and,  of  course,  he  chose  one  who  was  handsome  and 
fashionable,  but  he  didn't  think  about  anything  else,  and 
he  soon  found  that  she  was  no  housewife,  was  never  satis- 
fied unless  she  was  gadding  out  somewhere,  would  not  take 
a  word  of  reproof,  and,  what  was  more,  she  spent  all  his 
money. 

Every  day  there  were  furious  quarrels ;  it  was  bad 
enough  while  the  money  lasted — and  he  had  brought  a 
good  provision  with  him — but  when  the  money  came  to  an 
end  it  was  much  worse ;  he  was  ever  reproaching  her  with 
extravagance,  and  she  him  with  stinginess  and  deception. 

At  last  he  said  to  her  one  day,  '  It's  no  use  making  a 
piece  of  work  ;  I'm  quite  tired  of  this  sort  of  life  ;  I  shall 
go  back  to  Hell,  which  is  a  much  quieter  place  than  a 
house  where  you  are.  But  I  don't  mind  doing  you  a  good 
turn  first.  I'll  go  and  possess  myself  of  a  certain  queen. 
You  dress  up  like  a  doctor,  and  say  you  will  heal  her,  and 
all  you  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  pretend  to  use  some 
ointments4  for  two  or  three  days,  on  which  I  will  go  out 
of  her.  Then  they  will  be  so  delighted  with  you  for  heal- 
ing her  that  they  will  give  you  a  lot  of  money,  on  which 
you  can  live  for  the  rest  of  your  days,  and  I  will  go  back 
to  Hell.'  But  though  he  said  this,  it  was  only  to  get  rid 
of  her.  As  soon  as  he  had  provided  her  with  the  price 
for  casting  him  out  once,  he  meant  to  go  and  amuse  him- 
self on  earth  in  other  ways  ;  he  had  no  real  intention  of 
going  back  to  Hell.  Then  he  instructed  her  in  the 
means  by  which  she  was  to  find  out  the  queen  of  whom 
he  was  to  possess  himself,  and  went  his  way. 

The  wife,  by  following  the  direction  he  gave,  soon 
found  him,  and,  dressed  as  a  doctor,  effected  the  cure ; 
that  is,  she  made  herself  known  to  him  in  applying  the 
ointments,  and  he  went  away  as  he  had  agreed. 

When  the  king:  and  the  court  saw  what  a  wonderful 


The  Devil  who  took  to  Himself  a  Wife.     345 

cure  had  been  effected,  they  gave  the  woman  a  sackfull  of 
scudi,  but  all  the  people  went  on  talking  of  her  success. 

The  devil  meantime  had  possessed  himself  of  another 
sovereign,  a  king  this  time,  and  everybody  in  the  king- 
dom was  very  desirous  to  have  him  cured,  and  went 
inquiring  everywhere  for  a  remedy.  Thus  they  heard  of 
the  fame  of  the  last  cure  by  the  devil's  wife.  Then  they 
immediately  sent  for  her  and  insisted  that  she  should 
cure  this  king  too.  But  she,  not  sure  whether  he  would 
go  out  a  second  time  at  her  bidding,  refused  as  long  as 
she  could ;  but  they  took  her,  and  said,  '  Unless  you  cure 
him  we  shall  kill  you  ! ' 

'  Then,'  she  said,  '  you  must  shut  me  up  alone  with 
this  king,  and  I  will  try  what  I  can  do.' 

So  she  was  shut  up  alone  with  him. 

'  What !  you  here  again  ! '  said  the  devil  as  soon  as  he 
perceived  her.  '  No ;  that  won't  do  this  time.  I  am 
very  comfortable  inside  this  old  king,  and  I  mean  to  stay 
here.' 

'  But  they  threaten  to  kill  me  if  I  don't  make  you  go  ; 
so  what  am  I  to  do  ? '  answered  the  wife. 

'  I  can't  help  that,'  he  replied  ;  '  you  must  get  out  of 
the  scrape  the  best  way  you  can.' 

At  this  she  got  in  a  passion,  and,  as  she  used  to  do 
in  the  days  when  they  were  living  together,  rated  him 
so  fiercely  that  at  last  he  was  fain  to  go  to  escape  her 
scolding. 

Once  more  she  received  a  high  price  for  the  cure,  and 
her  fame  got  the  more  bruited  abroad. 

But  the  devil  went  into  another  queen,  and  possessed 
himself  of  her.  The  fame  of  the  two  cures  had  spread  so 
far  that  the  wife  was  soon  called  in  to  try  her  powers 
again. 

'  I  really  can't,'  she  pleaded ;  but  the  people  said  : 

'  What  you  did  for  the  other  two  you  can  do  for  this 
one  ;  and,  if  you  don't,  we  will  cut  off  your  head.' 


346  Ciarpe. 

To  save  her  head,  therefore,  she  said,  '  Then  you  must 
shut  me  up  in  a  room  alone  with  the  queen.' 

So  she  was  shut  up  in  the  room  with  her. 

'  What !  you  here  again  ! '  exclaimed  the  devil  as  soon 
as  he  perceived  her.  '  No ;  I  positively  won't  go  this 
time ;  I  couldn't  be  better  off  than  inside  this  old  queen, 
and  till  you  came  I  was  perfectly  happy.' 

'  They  threaten  to  take  my  head  if  I  don't  make  you 
go  ;  so  what  am  I  to  do?' 

4  Then  let  them  take  your  head,  and  let  that  be  an 
end  of  it,'  replied  the  devil  testily. 

'  You  are  a  pretty  husband,  indeed,  to  say  such  a 
speech  to  a  wife  ! '  answered  she  in  a  high-pitched  voice, 
which  he  knew  was  the  foretaste  of  one  of  those  terrible 
storms  he  could  never  resist. 

Basta  !  she  stormed  so  loud  that  she  sickened  him  of 
her  for  good  and  all,  and  this  time,  to  escape  her,  instead 
of  possessing  himself  of  any  more  kings  and  queens,  he 
went  straight  off  to  Hell,  and  never  came  forth  any  more 
for  fear  of  meeting  her. 

1  '  II  Diavolo  che  prese  Moglie.' 

*  '  II  Capo  diavolo.' 

s  '  II  piu  bravo.' 

4  Witches  were  generally  accused  of  communicating  with  the  Devil, 
going  to  midnight  meetings  with  him,  &c.,  by  means  of  ointments.  See 
•Del  Rio,'  lib.  ii.  Q.  xvi.  p.  81,  col.  1,  C.,  and  iib.  iii.  P.  1,  2,  ii.  p.  155, 
coL  1,  B.,  &c.,  &c. 

[For  variants  of  this  Ciarpa,  see  Ralston's  'Russian  Folk 
Tales,'  pp.  37-43;  'The  Ill-tempered  Princess'  in  'Patranas,'  &c.] 


THE  ROOT. 


THERE  was  a  rich  count  who  married  an  extravagant  wife. 
As  he  had  plenty  of  money  he  let  her  spend  whatever  she 
liked.  But  he  had  no  idea  what  a  woman  could  spend, 
and  very  much  surprised  was  he  when  he  found  that  dress- 


The  Root.  347 

makers,  and  milliners,  and  hairdressers,  and  shoemakers 
had  made  such  a  hole  in  his  fortune  that  there  was  verv 
little  left.  He  saw  it  was  high  time  to  look  after  it, 
and  he  ventured  to  tender  some  words  of  remonstrance  ; 
but  the  moment  he  began  to  speak  about  it  she  went 
into  hysterics.  There  was  such  a  dreadful  scene  that  he 
feared  to  approach  the  subject  again,  but  the  matter 
became  so  serious  that  at  last  he  was  obliged  to  do  so. 
The  least  allusion,  however,  brought  on  another  fit  of 
hysterics. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  To  go  on  at  this  extravagant 
rate  was  impossible ;  equally  impossible  was  it  to  endure 
the  terrible  scenes  which  ensued  when  he  attempted  to 
make  her  more  careful. 

At  last  he  went  to  a  doctor  whom  he  knew,  and  asked 
him  if  he  could  give  him  any  remedy  for  hysterics,  telling 
him  the  whole  story  of  what  he  wanted  it  for. 

'  Oh,  yes  ! '  replied  the  doctor  ;  '  I  have  an  infallible 
cure.  It  is  a  certain  root  which  must  be  applied  very 
sharply  to  the  back  of  the  neck.  If  it  doesn't  succeed 
with  the  first  half-dozen  applications,  you  must  go  on  till 
it  does.  It  never  fails  in  the  end.'  So  saying,  he  gave 
him  a  stout  root,  as  thick  as  a  walking  stick,  with  a 
knobbed  end. 

Strong  with  the  promised  remedy,  the  husband  went 
home,  and  sent  word  to  all  the  dressmakers,  milliners, 
hairdressers,  and  shoemakers  that  he  would  pay  for  nothing 
more  except  what  he  ordered  himself.  Indeed  he  met  the 
shoemaker  on  the  step  of  the  door,  who  had  just  come  to 
take  the  measure  for  a  pair  of  velvet  slippers. 

'  Don't  bring  them,'  he  said  ;  '  she  has  seven  or  eight 
pairs  already,  and  that  is  quite  enough.' 

Then  he  went  up  to  his  wife,  and  told  her  what  he 
had  done.  Such  a  scene  of  hysterics  as  he  had  never 
imagined  before  awaited  him  now,  but  he,  full  of  confi- 
dence in  his  remedy,  took  no  notice  further  than  to  go  up 


34&  Ciarpe. 

to  her  and  apply  the  root  very  smartly  to  the  back  of  her 
neck  as  he  had  been  directed. 

'  But  to  me  it  seems  that  was  all  one  with  beating  her 
with  a  stick,'  exclaimed  another  old  woman  who  was  sitt- 
ing in  the  room  knitting. 

'  Of  course  !  That's  just  the  fun  of  it ! '  replied  the 
narrator.  '  And  the  beauty  of  it  was  that  he  was  so  simple 
that  he  thought  it  was  some  virtue  in  the  root  that  was 
to  effect  the  cure.' 

The  hysterics  stopped,  and  he  ran  off  to  the  doctor  to 
thank  him  for  the  capital  remedy.  The  wife  ran  off,  too, 
and  went  to  her  friends  crying  with  terrible  complaints 
that  her  husband  would  not  allow  her  a  single  thing  to 
put  on,  and,  moreover,  had  even  been  beating  her. 

When  the  count  got  back  from  the  doctor,  he  found 
the  father  and  half  the  family  there  ready  to  abuse  him 
for  making  his  wife  go  about  with  nothing  on,  and  beat- 
ing her  into  the  bargain. 

'  It  is  all  a  mistake,'  said  the  count.  '  I  will  allow 
her  everything  that  is  right,  only  I  will  order  myself 
what  I  pay  for;  and,  as  to  beating  her,  I  only  applied 
this  root  which  I  got  from  the  doctor  to  cure  hysterics ; 
nothing  more.' 

'  Oh  !  it's  a  case  of  hysterics  is  it ! '  said  the  father  ; 
'  then  it  is  all  quite  right,'  and  he  and  the  rest  went  away  ; 
and  the  count  and  his  wife  got  on  very  well  after  that,  and 
he  never  had  to  make  use  of  the  doctor's  root  again. 


THE   QUEEN  AND   THE  TRIPE-SELLER.1 

THEY  say  there  was  a  queen  who  had  such  a  bad  temper 
that  she  made  everybody  about  her  miserable.  What- 
ever her  husband  might  do  to  please  her,  she  was  always 
discontented,  and  as  for  her  maids  she  was  always 
slapping  their  faces. 


The  Queen  and  the  Tripe-seller.  349 

There  was  a  fairy  who  saw  all  this,  and  she  said  to 
herself,  '  This  must  not  be  allowed  to  go  on  ;'  so  she  went 
and  called  another  fairy,  and  said, '  What  shall  we  do  to 
teach  this  naughty  queen  to  behave  herself?'  and  they 
could  not  imagine  what  to  do  with  her  ;  so  they  agreed 
to  think  it  over,  and  meet  again  another  day. 

When  they  met  again,  the  first  fairy  said  to  the  other, 
'  Well,  have  you  found  any  plan  for  correcting  this 
naughty  queen  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  replied  the  second  fairy ;  '  I  have  found  an 
excellent  plan.  I  have  been  up  and  all  over  the  whole 
town,  and  in  a  little  dirty  back  lane 2  I  have  found  a  tripe- 
seller  as  like  to  this  queen  as  two  peas.' 3 

'Excellent!'  exclaimed  the  first  fairy.  'I  see  what 
you  mean  to  do.  One  of  us  will  take  some  of  the  queen's 
clothes  and  dress  up  the  tripe-seller,  and  the  other  will 
take  some  of  the  tripe-seller's  clothes  and  dress  up  the 
queen  in  them,  and  then  we  will  exchange  them  till  the 
queen  learns  better  manners.' 

'  That's  the  plan,'  replied  the  second  fairy.  '  You. 
have  said  it  exactly.  When  shall  we  begin  ? ' 

'  This  very  night,'  said  the  first  fairy. 

'  Agreed ! '  said  the  second  fairy ;  and  that  very  night, 
while  everyone  else  was  gone  quietly  to  bed  they  went, 
one  into  the  palace  and  fetched  some  of  the  queen's 
clothes,  and,  bringing  them  to  the  tripe-seller's  room, 
placed  them  by  the  side  of  her  bed  ;  and  the  other  went 
to  the  tripe-seller's  room  and  fetched  her  clothes,  and  took 
them  and  put  them  by  the  side  of  the  queen's  bed.  They 
also  woke  them  very  early,  and  when  each  got  up  she  put 
on  the  things  that  were  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  thinking 
they  were  the  things  she  had  left  there  the  night  before. 
Thus  the  queen  was  dressed  like  a  tripe-seller,  and  the 
tripe-seller  like  a  queen. 

Then  one  fairy  took  the  queen,  dressed  like  a  tripe- 
seller,  and  put  her  down  in  the  tripe-seller's  shop,  and  the 


350  Ciarpe. 

other  fairy  took  the  tripe-seller,  dressed  like  a  queen,  and 
placed  her  in  the  palace,  and  both  of  them  did  their  work 
so  swiftly  that  neither  the  queen  nor  the  tripe-seller 
perceived  the  flight  at  all. 

The  queen  was  very  much  astonished  at  finding  her- 
self in  a  tripe-shop,  and  began  staring  about,  wondering 
how  she  got  there. 

4  Here  !  Don't  stand  gaping  about  like  that ! '  cried 
the  tripe-man,4  who  was  a  very  hot-tempered  fellow  ; 
4  Why,  you  haven't  boiled  the  coffee !' 

4  Boiled  the  coffee  ! '  repeated  the  queen,  hardly  appre- 
hending what  he  meant. 

4  Yes  ;  you  haven't  boiled  the  coffee  ! '  said  the  tripe- 
man.  '  Don't  repeat  my  words,  but  do  your  work ! '  and 
he  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  put  the  coffee-pot  in  her 
hand,  and  stood  over  her  looking  so  fierce  that  she  was 
frightened  into  doing  what  she  had  never  done  or  seen 
done  in  all  her  life  before. 

Presently  the  coffee  began  to  boil  over. 

4  There !  Don't  waste  aU  the  coffee  like  that ! '  cried  the 
tripe-man,  and  he  got  up  and  gave  her  a  slap,  which  made 
the  tears  come  in  her  eyes. 

'  Don't  blubber ! '  said  the  tripe-man  ;  '  but  bring  the 
coffee  here  and  pour  it  out.' 

The  queen  did  as  she  was  told ;  but  when  she  began 
to  drink  it,  though  she  had  made  it  herself,  it  was  so 
nasty  she  didn't  know  how  to  drink  it.  It  was  very  dif- 
ferent stuff  from  what  she  got  at  the  palace ;  but  the 
tripe-man  had  his  eye  on  her,  and  she  didn't  dare  not  to 
drink  it. 

1  A  halfp'th  of  cat's-meat ! '  5  sang  out  a  small  boy  in 
the  shop. 

*  Why  don't  you  go  and  serve  the  customer  ? '  said  the 
tripe-man,  knocking  the  cup  out  of  the  queen's  hand. 

Fearing  another  slap,  she  rose  hastily  to  give  the  boy 
what  he  wanted,  but  not  knowing  one  thing  in  the  shop 


The  Queen  and  the  Tripe-seller.          351 

from  another,  she  gave  him  a  large  piece  of  the  best  tripe 
fit  for  a  prince. 

'  Oh,  what  fine  tripe  to-day  ! '  cried  the  small  boy,  and 
ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could. 

It  was  in  vain  the  tripe-man  halloed  after  him,  he 
was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  secure  his  prize  to  think  of 
returning. 

'  Look  what  you've  done  ! '  cried  the  tripe-man,  giving 
the  queen  another  slap ;  '  you've  given  that  boy  for  a 
penny  a  bunch  of  tripe  worth  a  shilling.'  Luckily,  other 
customers  came  in  and  diverted  the  man's  attention. 

Presently  all  the  tripe  hanging  up  had  been  sold,  and 
more  customers  kept  coming  in. 

'  What  has  come  to  you,  to-day ! '  roared  the  tripe- 
man,  as  the  queen  stood  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
herself.  '  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  washed  that 
other  lot  of  tripe ! '  and  this  time  he  gave  her  a  kick. 

To  escape  his  fury,  the  queen  turned  to  do  her  best 
with  washing  the  other  tripe,  but  she  did  it  so  awkwardly 
that  she  got  a  volley  of  abuse  and  blows  too. 

Then  came  dinner-time,  and  nothing  prepared,  or  even 
bought  to  prepare,  for  dinner.  Another  stormy  scene 
ensued  at  the  discovery,  and  the  tripe-man  went  to  dine 
at  the  inn,  leaving  her  to  go  without  any  dinner  at  all,  in 
punishment  for  having  neglected  to  prepare  it. 

While  he  was  gone  she  helped  all  the  customers  to  the 
wrong  things,  and,  when  he  came  home,  got  another 
scolding  and  more  blows  for  her  stupidity.  And  all 
through  the  afternoon  it  was  the  same  story. 

But  the  tripe-seller,  when  she  found  herself  all  in  a 
palace,  with  half-a-dozen  maids  waiting  to  attend  her, 
was  equally  bewildered.  When  they  kept  asking  her  if 
there  was  nothing  she  pleased  to  want,  she  kept  answer- 
ing, 'No  thank  you,'  in  such  a  gentle  tone,  the  maids  began 
to  think  that  a  reign  of  peace  had  come  to  them  at  last. 

By-and-by,  when  the  ladies  came,  instead  of  saying,  as 


352  Ciarpe. 

the  queen  had  been  wont,  '  What  an  ugly  dress  you  have 
got ;  go  and  take  it  off ! '  she  said,  '  How  nice  you  look  ; 
how  tasteful  your  dress  is  ! ' 

Afterwards  the  king  came  in,  bringing  her  a  rare 
nosegay.  Instead  of  throwing  it  on  one  side  to  vex  him, 
as  the  queen  had  been  wont,  she  showed  so  much  delight, 
and  expressed  her  thanks  so  many  times,  that  he  was 
quite  overcome. 

The  change  that  had  come  over  the  queen  soon  be- 
came the  talk  of  the  whole  palace,  and  everyone  congra- 
tulated himself  on  an  improvement  which  made  them  all 
happy.  The  king  was  no  less  pleased  than  all  the  rest, 
and  for  the  first  time  for  many  years  he  said  he  would 
drive  out  with  the  queen  ;  for  on  account  of  her  bad  tem- 
per he  had  long  given  up  driving  with  her.  So  the 
carriage  came  round  with  four  prancing  horses,  and  an 
escort  of  cavalry  to  ride  before  and  behind  it.  The  tripe- 
seller  hardly  could  believe  she  was  to  drive  in  this  splendid 
carriage,  but  the  king  handed  her  in  before  she  knew 
where  she  was.  Then,  as  he  was  so  pleased  with  her 
gentle  and  grateful  ways,  he  further  asked  her  to  say 
which  way  she  would  like  to  drive. 

The  tripe-seller,  partly  because  she  was  too  much 
frightened  to  think  of  any  other  place,  and  partly  because 
she  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  drive  in  state  through  her 
own  neighbourhood,  named  the  broader  street  out  of  which 
turned  the  lane  in  which  she  lived,  for  the  royal  carriage 
could  hardly  have  turned  down  the  lane  itself.  The  king 
repeated  the  order,  and  away  drove  the  royal  cortege. 

The  circumstance  of  the  king  and  queen  driving  out 
together  was  sufficient  to  excite  the  attention  of  the 
whole  population,  and  wherever  they  passed  the  people 
crowded  into  the  streets ;  thus  a  volley  of  shouts  and 
comments  ran  before  the  carriage  towards  the  lane  of  the 
tripe-man.  The  tripe-man  was  at  the  moment  engaged 
in  administering  a  severe  chastisement  to  the  queen  for 


The  Queen  and  the  Tripe-seller.  353 

her   latest  mistake,  and  the  roar  of  the  people's  voices 
afforded  a  happy  pretext  for  breaking  away  from  him. 

She  ran  with  the  rest  to  the  opening  of  the  lane  just 
as  the  royal  carriage  was  passing. 

'  My  husband  !  my  husband ! '  she  screamed  as  the 
king  drove  by,  and  plaintive  as  was  her  voice,  and  different 
from  her  usual  imperious  tone,  he  heard  it  and  turned  his 
head  towards  her. 

'  My  husband !  my  royal  husband ! '  pleaded  the 
humbled  queen. 

The  king,  in  amazement,  stopped  the  carriage  and 
gazed  from  the  queen  in  the  gutter  to  the  tripe-seller  in 
royal  array  by  his  side,  unable  to  solve  the  problem. 

'  This  is  certainly  my  wife ! '  he  said  at  last,  as  he  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  the  queen.  '  Who  then  can  you  be  ? ' 
he  added,  addressing  the  tripe-seller. 

'  I  will  tell  the  truth,'  replied  the  good  tripe-seller. 
4 1  am  no  queen  ;  I  am  the  poor  wife  of  the  tripe-seller 
down  the  lane  there  ;  but  how  I  came  into  the  palace  is 
more  than  I  can  say.' 

'  And  how  come  you  here  ?  '  said  the  king,  addressing 
the  real  queen. 

'  That,  neither  can  I  tell ;  I  thought  you  had  '  sent 
me  hither  to  punish  me  for  my  bad  temper ;  but  if  you 
will  only  take  me  back  I  will  never  be  bad-tempered 
again  ;  only  take  me  away  from  this  dreadful  tripe-man, 
who  has  been  beating  me  all  day.' 

Then  the  king  made  answer:  'Of  course  you  must 
come  back  with  me,  for  you  are  my  wife.  But,'  he  said 
to  the  tripe-seller  ;  '  what  shall  I  do  with  you  ?  After 
you  have  been  living  in  luxury  in  the  palace,  you  will  feel 
it  hard  to  go  back  to  sell  tripe.' 

'  It's  true  I  have  not  many  luxuries  at  home,'  answered 
the  tripe-seller ;  '  but  yet  I  had  rather  be  with  my  hus- 
band than  in  any  palace  in  the  world ; '  and  she  descended 
from  the  carriage,  while  the  queen  got  in. 
A  A 


354  Ciarpe. 

4  Stop ! '  said  the  king.  '  This  day's  transformation, 
howsoever  it  was  brought  about,  has  been  a  good  day,  and 
you  have  been  so  well  behaved,  and  so  truth- spoken,  I 
don't  like  your  going  back  to  be  beaten  by  the  tripe-man.' 

'  Oh,  never  mind  that,'  said  the  good  wife  ;  *  he  never 
beats  me  unless  I  do  something  very  stupid.  And,  after 
all,  he's  my  husband,  and  that's  enough  for  me.' 

'  Well,  if  you're  satisfied,  I  won't  interfere  any  further,' 
said  the  king ;  '  except  to  give  you  some  mark  of  my 
royal  favour.' 

So  he  bestowed  on  the  tripe-man  and  his  wife  a  beau- 
tiful villa,  with  a  nice  casino  outside  the  gates,  on  condi- 
tion that  he  never  beat  her  any  more. 

The  tripe-man  was  so  pleased  with  the  gifts  which  had 
come  to  him  through  his  wife's  good  conduct,  that  he 
kept  his  word,  and  was  always  thereafter  very  kind  to  her. 
And  the  queen  was  so  frightened  at  the  thought  that  she 
might  find  herself  suddenly  transformed  into  a  tripe- 
seller  again,  that  she  kept  a  strict  guard  over  her  temper, 
and  became  the  delight  of  her  husband  and  the  whole 
court. 

'  La  Eegina  e  la  Triparola  ; '  '  Triparola,'  female  tripe-seller. 

'  Vicolo,'  a  narrow  dirty  street. 

'  Due  gocciette  d'acqua,'  two  little  drops  of  water,  the  Boman  equi- 
valent for  '  as  like  as  two  peas.' 

1  Triparolo,'  a  male  tripe-seller. 

'Un  bajocco  di  tripa-gatto,'  the  worst  part  of  the  tripe,  sold  for 
cats'  and  dogs'  meat. 


THE  BAD-TEMPERED    QUEEN.1 

THEY  say  there  was  a  queen  who  was  so  bad-tempered  that 
no  one  who  could  help  it  would  come  near  her.  All  the 
servants  ran  away  when  she  came  out  of  her  apartment, 
for  fear  she  should  scold  and  maltreat  them  ;  all  the  people 
ran  away  when  she  drove  out,  for  fear  she  should  vex  them 
with  some  tyrannical  order. 


The  bad-tempered  Queen.  355 

As  she  was  rich  and  beautiful,  and  ruled  over  vast 
dominions,  many  princes — who  in  their  distant  kingdoms 
had  heard  nothing  of  her  failing — came  to  sue  for  her 
hand,  but  she  sent  them  all  away  and  would  have  nothing 
to  say  to  any  of  them.  She  used  to  say  she  did  not  want 
to  have  anyone  to  be  her  master ;  she  had  rather  live  and 
govern  by  herself,  and  have  everything  her  own  way. 

As  time  went  on,  however,  the  council  of  state  grew 
dissatisfied  with  this  resolution.  They  insisted  that  she 
must  marry,  that  there  might  be  a  family  of  princes  to 
carry  on  the  succession  to  the  throne  without  dispute. 
When  the  queen  found  that  she  could  not  help  it  she 
agreed  she  would  many ;  but  she  was  determined  she 
would  not  marry  any  of  the  princes  who  had  come  to 
court  her,  because,  as  they  were  equal  to  herself  in  birth 
and  state,  they  would  want  to  rule  over  her  and  expect 
obedience  from  her.  She  declared  she  would  marry  no 
one  but  a  certain  duke,  who,  as  she  had  observed  in  the 
council  and  in  the  state  banquets  and  balls,  was  always 
very  quiet  and  hardly  ever  spoke  at  all.  She  thought  he 
would  make  a  nice  quiet  manageable  sort  of  husband,  and 
she  would  have  him  if  she  must  have  one  at  all. 

The  duke  was  as  silent  as  usual  when  he  was  spoken 
to  about  it ;  but  as  he  made  no  objection  he  was  reckoned 
to  have  consented,  and  the  marriage  was  duly  solemnised. 

As  soon  as  the  marriage  was  over  the  queen  went  on 
making  her  arrangements  and  ordering  matters  in  the 
palace  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  she  were  still 
her  own  mistress.  In  particular  she  issued  invitations  for 
the  grandest  ball  she  had  ever  given,  asking  to  it  all 
the  ministers  and  their  families,  and  all  the  nobility  of 
the  kingdom. 

The  husband  said  nothing  to  all  this,  only  a  few  hours 
before  the  time  appointed  for  the  banquet  he  called  to 
the  queen,  saying :  '  Put  on  your  travelling  dress,  and 
make  haste ;  the  carriage  will  be  round  directly.' 


356  Ciarpe. 

'  I'm  not  going  to  put  on  my  travelling  dress,'  an- 
swered the  queen  scornfully  ;  '  I  am  just  seeing  about  my 
evening  dress  for  the  banquet  this  evening.' 

'  If  you  are  not  ready  in  your  travelling  dress  in  five 
minutes,  when  the  carriage  comes  round,  it  will  be  worse 
for  you.  Mind  I  have  warned  you.' 

And  he  looked  so  determined  that  she  quailed  before 
him. 

'  How  can  we  be  going  into  the  country,  when  I  have 
invited  half  the  kingdom  to  a  banquet  ? '  exclaimed  the 
queen. 

'  /  have  invited  no  one,'  answered  the  husband  quietly. 
1  Don't  stand  hesitating  when  I  tell  you  to  do  a  thing ;  go 
and  get  ready  directly  !  we  are  going  into  the  country  ! ' 
he  added  in  his  most  positive  voice,  and,  though  she  shed 
many  secret  tears  over  the  loss  of  the  banquet,  she  ven- 
tured to  oppose  nothing  more  to  his  orders,  but  went  up 
and  dressed,  and  when  the  carriage  came  round  she  was 
nearly  ready.  In  about  five  minutes  she  came  down. 

4 1  won't  say  anything  this  time  about  your  keeping 
me  waiting,'  he  said  when  she  appeared ;  '  but  mind  it 
does  not  happen  again,  or  you  will  be  sorry  for  it.' 

The  queen  had  a  favourite  little  dog,  which  she  fondled 
and  talked  to  all  the  way,  to  show  she  was  offended  with 
her  husband  and  independent  of  his  conversation. 

Watching  an  opportunity  when  she  was  silent,  the 
husband  said  to  the  little  dog,  '  Jump  on  to  my  lap.' 

'  He's  not  going  to  obey  you,'  said  the  queen  contemp- 
tuously ;  '  he's  my  dog ! ' 

'  I  keep  no  one  about  me  who  does  not  obey  me,'  said 
her  husband  quietly ;  and  he  took  out  his  pistol  and  shot 
the  dog  through  the  head. 

The  queen  began  to  understand  that  the  husband  she 
had  chosen  was  not  a  person  to  be  trifled  with,  nor  did 
she  venture  even  to  utter  a  complaint. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  villa,  as  the  queen  was  going 


The  Simple  Wife.  357 

to  her  apartment  to  undress,  her  husband  called  her  to 
him  into  his  room  and  bade  her  pull  off  his  boots. 

The  queen's  first  impulse  was  to  utter  a  haughty  re- 
fusal ;  but  by  this  time  she  had  learnt  that,  as  she  would 
certainly  have  to  give  in  to  him  in  the  end,  it  was  better 
to  do  his  bidding  with  a  good  grace  at  the  first.  So  she 
said  nothing,  but  knelt  down  and  pulled  off  his  boots. 

When  she  had  done  this  he  got  up  and  said :  '  Now 
sit  down  in  this  armchair  and  I  will  take  off  your  shoes ; 
for  my  way  is  that  one  should  help  the  other.  If  you 
behave  to  me  as  wife  should,  you  need  never  fear  but  that 
I  shall  behave  to  you  as  a  husband  should.' 

By  the  time  their  visit  to  the  country  was  at  an  end, 
and  when  they  returned  to  the  capital,  everybody  found 
their  naughty  queen  had  become  the  most  angelic  being 
imaginable. 

1  '  La  Kegina  Cattiva.' 

F  After  people's  bad  tempers,  their  follies  form  the  most  pro- 
lific subject  of  the  CiarpeJ] 


THE  SIMPLE   WIFE.1 

THEKE  was  a  man  and  his  wife  who  had  a  young  daughter 
to  marry  ;  and  there  was  a  man  who  was  seeking  a  wife. 
So  the  man  who  was  seeking  a  wife  came  to  the  man  who 
had  a  daughter  to  marry,  and  said,  '  Give  me  your  daugh- 
ter for  a  wife.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  man  who  had  a  daughter  to  marry ; 2 
'  you'll  do  very  well ;  you're  just  about  the  sort  of  son-in- 
law  I  want.'  And  then  he  added  :  '  If  our  daughter  is  to 
be  betrothed  to-day,  it  is  the  occasion  for  a  feast.'  So  to 
the  wife  he  said,  «  Prepare  the  table ; '  and  to  the  daughter 
he  said,  '  Draw  the  wine.' 

The  daughter  went  down  into  the  cellar  to  draw  the 


358  Ciarpe. 

wine.  But  as  she  drew  the  wine  she  began  to  cry,  saying : 
1  If  I  am  to  be  married  I  shall  have  a  child,  and  the  child 
will  be  a  son,  and  the  son  will  be  a  priest,  and  the  priest 
will  be  a  bishop,  and  the  bishop  will  be  a  cardinal,  and 
the  cardinal  will  be  a  pope.'  And  she  cried  and  cried, 
and  the  wine  was  running  all  the  time,  so  that  the  bottle 3 
she  was  filling  ran  over,  and  went  on  running  over. 

Then  said  the  father  and  mother :  '  What  can  the  girl 
be  doing  down  in  the  cellar  so  long  ?  '  But  the  mother 
said  :  '  I  must  go  and  see.' 

So  the  mother  went  down  to  see  why  she  was  so  long, 
but  the  moment  she  came  into  the  cellar  she,  too,  began 
to  cry ;  so  that  the  wine  still  went  on  running  over. 

Then  the  father  said :  '  What  can  the  girl  and  her 
mother  both  be  doing  so  long  .down  in  the  cellar  ?  I  must 
go  and  see.' 

So  the  father  went  down  into  the  cellar ;  but  the 
moment  he  got  into  the  cellar  he,  too,  began  to  cry,  and 
could  do  nothing  for  crying ;  so  the  wine  still  went  on 
running  over. 

Then  he  who  had  come  to  seek  a  wife  said :  '  What 
can  these  people  all  be  doing  so  long  down  in  the  cellar  ? ' 
So  he,  too,  went  down  to  see,  and  found  them  all  crying 
in  the  cellar  and  the  wine  running  over.  Only  when  the 
wine  was  all  run  out  they  left  off  crying  and  came  upstairs 
again. 

Then  the  betrothal  and  the  marriage  were  happily 
celebrated. 

One  day  after  they  were  married  the  husband  went 
into  the  market  to  buy  meat,  and  he  bought  a  large  pro- 
vision because  he  had  invited  a  friend  to  dinner.  When 
the  wife  saw  him  buy  such  a  quantity  of  meat  she 
began  to  cry,  saying :  4  What  can  we  do  with  such  a  lot 
of  meat  ? ' 

'  Oh,  never  mind,  don't  make  a  misery  of  it,'  said  the 
husband  ;  '  put  it  behind  you.' 4 


The  Simple  Wife.  359 

The  simple  wife  took  the  meat  and  went  home,  saying 
to  her  parents,5  and  crying  the  while :  *  My  husband  says 
I  am  to  put  all  this  meat  behind  me !  Do  tell  me  what 
can  I  do  ? ' 

'  You  can't  put  the  whole  lot  of  it  behind  you,  that's 
certain,'  replied  the  equally  simple  mother  ;  '  but  we  can 
manage  it  between  us.' 

Then  she  took  the  meat  and  put  all  the  hard,  bony 
part  on  one  chair,  where  she  made  the  father  sit  down  on 
it ;  all  the  fat,  skinny  part  she  put  on  another  chair,  and 
made  the  wife  sit  down  on  it ;  and  the  fleshy,  meaty  part 
she  put  on  another  chair,  and  sat  down  on  that  herself. 

Presently  the  husband  came  with  his  friend,  ready  for 
dinner,  knocking  at  the  door.  None  of  the  three  dared  to 
move,  however,  that  they  might  not  cease  to  be  fulfilling 
his  injunctions.  Then  he  looked  through  the  keyhole, 
and,  seeing  them  all  sitting  down  without  moving  when 
he  knocked,  he  thought  they  must  all  be  dead ;  so  he  ran 
and  fetched  a  locksmith,  who  opened  the  door  for  him. 

'  What  on  earth  are  you  all  doing  there,'  exclaimed 
the  hungry  husband, '  instead  of  getting  dinner  ready  ? ' 

'  You  told  me  to  put  the  meat  behind  me,  and  I  have 
done  so,'  answered  the  simple  wife. 

Then  he  saw  they  were  sitting  on  the  meat.  Out  of 
all  patience  with  such  idiocy,  he  exclaimed :  '  This  is  the 
last  you'll  ever  see  of  me.  At  least  I  promise  you  not  to 
come  back  till  I  have  met  three  other  people  as  idiotic  as 
you,  and  that's  hardly  likely  to  occur.' 

With  that  he  took  his  friend  to  a  tavern  to  dine,  and 
then  put  on  a  pilgrim's  dress  and  went  wandering  over  the 
country. 

In  the  first  city  he  came  to  there  was  great  public  re- 
joicing going  on.  The  princess  had  just  been  married, 
and  the  court  was  keeping  high  festival.  As  he  came  up 
to  the  palace  the  bride  and  bridegroom  were  just  come 
back  from  church.  The  bride  wore  one  of  those  very  high 


360  Ciarpe. 

round  headdresses  that  they  used  to  wear  in  olden  time, 
with  a  long  veil  hanging  from  it.  It  was  so  very  high 
that  she  could  not  by  any  means  get  in  at  the  door,  and 
there  she  stuck,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  Then  she  began 
to  cry,  saying :  '  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ? ' 

'  Shall  I  tell  you  what  to  do  ?  '  said  the  pilgrim-hus- 
band, drawing  near. 

'  Oh,  pray  do,  if  you  can  ;  I  will  give  you  a  hundred 
scudi  if  you  will  only  show  me  how  to  get  in.' 

So  he  went  and  made  her  go  a  few  steps  backward,  and 
then  bow  her  head  very  low,  and  so  she  could  pass  under 
the  door. 

'  Keally,  I  have  found  one  woman  as  simple  as  my 
people  at  home,'  said  the  pilgrim-husband,  as  he  sat  down 
to  the  banquet  at  the  special  invitation  of  the  princess,  in 
reward  for  his  services.  Afterwards  she  counted  out  a 
hundred  scudi  to  him,  and  he  went  further. 

Further  along  the  road  he  came  to  a  farm,  with  barns 
and  cattle  and  plenty  of  stock  about,  and  a  large  well  at 
which  a  woman  was  drawing  water.  Instead  of  dipping 
in  the  pail,  she  had  got  the  well-rope  knotted  into  a  huge 
knot,  which  she  kept  dipping  into  the  water  and  squeezing 
out  into  the  pail,  and  she  kept  crying  as  she  did  so  : 
'  Oh,  how  long  shall  I  be  filling  the  pail !  The  pail  will 
never  be  full ! ' 

*  Shall  I  show  you  how  to  fill  it  ?  '  asked  the  pilgrim- 
husband,  drawing  near. 

'  Oh,  yes,  do  show  me  if  you  can.  I  will  give  you  a 
hundred  scudi  if  you  will  only  show  me.' 

Then  he  took  all  the  knots  out  of  the  rope  and  let 
down  the  pail  by  it,  and  filled  it  in  a  minute. 

'  Here's  a  second  woman  as  stupid  as  my  people  at 
home,'  said  the  pilgrim-husband,  as  the  farmer's  wife  asked 
him  in  to  dinner  in  reward  for  his  great  services ;  '  if  I  go 
on  at  this  rate  I  shall  have  to  return  to  her  at  last,  in  spite 
of  my  protestations.' 


The  Simple  Wife.  361 

After  that  the  farmer's  wife  counted  out  the  hundred 
scudi  of  the  promised  reward,  and  he  went  on  further, 
having  first  packed  six  eggs  into  his  hollow  staff  as  pro- 
vision for  the  journey. 

Towards  nightfall  he  arrived  at  a  lone  cottage.  Here 
he  knocked  and  asked  a  bed  for  his  night's  lodging. 

'  I  can't  give  you  that,'  said  a  voice  from  the  inside  ; 
'  for  I  am  a  lone  widow.  I  can't  take  a  man  in  to  sleep  here.' 

'  But  I  am  a  pilgrim,'  replied  he ;  '  let  me  in  at  least 
to  cook  a  bit  of  supper.' 

'  That  I  don't  mind  doing,'  said  the  good  wife,  and  she 
opened  the  door. 

'  Thanks,  good  friend ! '  said  the  pilgrim-husband  as 
he  sat  down  by  the  stove ;  « now  add  to  your  charity  a 
couple  of  eggs  in  a  pan.' G 

So  she  gave  him  a  pan  and  two  eggs,  and  a  bit  of 
butter  to  cook  them  in ;  but  he  took  the  six  eggs  out  of 
his  staff  and  broke  them  into  the  pan,  too. 

Presently,  when  the  good  wife  turned  her  head  his 
way  again,  and  saw  eight  eggs  swimming  in  the  pan 
instead  of  two,  she  said :  '  Lack-a-day !  you  must  surely 
be  some  strange  being  from  the  other  world.  Do  you 
know  so-and-so  there '  (naming  her  dead  husband)  ? 

'  Oh,  yes,'  said  the  pilgrim-husband,  enjoying  the  joke ; 
'I  know  him  very  well ;  he  lives  just  next  to  me.' 

'  Only  to  think  of  that ! '  replied  the  poor  woman. 
'  And  do  tell  me,  how  do  you  get  on  in  the  other  world  ? 
What  sort  of  a  life  is  it  ?  ' 

c  Oh,  not  so  very  bad ;  it  depends  what  sort  of  a  place 
you  get.  The  part  where  we  are  is  not  very  bad,  except 
that  we  get  very  little  to  eat.  Your  husband,  for  instance, 
is  nearly  starved.' 

'  No,  really  ! '  cried  the  good  wife,  clasping  her  hands ; 
'  only  fancy !  my  good  husband  starving  out  there ;  so 
fond  as  he  was  of  a  good  dinner,  too  I '  Then  she  added, 
coaxingly :  '  As  you  know  him  so  well,  perhaps  you 


362  Ciarpe. 

wouldn't  mind  doing  him  the  charity  of  taking  him  a 
little  somewhat  to  give  him  a  treat.  There  are  such  lots 
of  things  I  could  easily  send  him.' 

6  0,  dear  no,  not  at  all ;  I'll  do  it  with  great  pleasure,' 
answered  he ;  '  but  I'm  not  going  back  till  to-morrow ; 
and  if  I  don't  sleep  here  I  must  go  on  further,  and  then  I 
shan't  come  by  this  way.' 

4  That's  true,'  replied  the  widow.  '  Ah,  well,  I  mustn't 
mind  what  the  folks  say,  for  such  an  opportunity  as  this 
may  never  occur  again.  You  must  sleep  in  my  bed,  and 
I  must  sleep  on  the  hearth  ;  and  in  the  morning  I'll  load 
a  donkey  with  provisions  for  my  poor  dear  husband.' 

'  Oh,  no,'  replied  the  pilgrim ;  '  you  shan't  be  disturbed 
in  your  bed ;  only  let  me  sleep  on  the  hearth,  that  will  do 
for  me ;  and  as  I'm  an  early  riser  I  can  be  gone  before 
anyone's  astir,  so  folks  won't  have  anything  to  say.' 

So  it  was  done,  and  an  hour  before  sunrise  the  woman 
was  up  loading  the  donkey  with  the  best  of  her  stores. 
There  were  ham,  and  maccaroni,  and  flour,  and  cheese,  and 
wine.  All  this  she  committed  to  the  pilgrim,  saying : 
1  You'll  send  the  donkey  back,  won't  you  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  would  send  him  back  ;  he'd  be  no  use  to 
us  out  there  :  but  I  shan't  get  out  again  myself  for  another 
hundred  years  or  so,  and  I  fear  he  won't  find  his  way  back 
alone,  for  it's  no  easy  way  to  find.' 

'  To  be  sure  not ;  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that,' 
replied  the  widow.  '  Ah,  well,  so  as  my  poor  husband  gets 
a  good  meal  never  mind  the  donkey.' 

So  the  pretended  pilgrim  from  the  other  world  went 
his  way.  He  hadn't  gone  a  hundred  yards  before  the 
widow  called  him  back. 

*  Ah,  she's  beginning  to  think  better  of  it ! '  said  he  to 
himself ;  and  he  continued  his  way,  pretending  not  to  hear. 

'  Grood  pilgrim  ! '  shouted  the  widow  ;  '  I  forgot  one 
thing.  Would  any  money  be  of  use  to  my  poor  dear 
husband  ? ' 


The  Simple  Wife.  363 

'  Oh  dear  yes,  all  the  use  in  the  world,'  replied  the 
pilgrim  ;  '  you  can  always  get  anything  for  money  every- 
where.' 

'  Oh,  do  come  back  then,  and  I'll  trouble  you  with  a 
hundred  scudi  for  him.' 

The  pretended  pilgrim  came  back  willingly  for  the 
hundred  scudi,  and  the  widow  counted  them  out  to  him. 

'  There  is  no  help  for  it,'  soliloquised  he  as  he  went  his 
way ;  '  I  must  go  back  to  those  at  home.  I  have  actually 
found  three  women  each  more  stupid  than  they.' 

So  he  went  home  to  live,  and  complained  no  more  of 
the  simplicity  of  his  wife. 

1  '  La  Sposa  Cece,'  the  simple  wife.     '  Cece '  among  the  common  people 
seems  to  mean  pretty  nearly  the  same  as  '  tonto,'  '  silly,'  '  idiotic ; '  in  this 
place  more  exactly  '  simple  '  or  '  half-witted.' 

2  It  is  a  characteristic  of  the  Roman  people  that  as  a  rule  they  never 
call  people   by  their  names ;    the    '  casato '    or  married   name,    and   the 
'cognome'or  family  name,  are  used  indifferently  when  such  a  name  is 
called  in  request  at  all,  by  married  people.     If  they  must  give  a  name  to 
a  stranger  it  is  always  the  Christian  name  that  comes  first  to  their  lips ; 
among  themselves,  however,  it  is  seldom  the  genuine  name  that  is  used. 
They  have  some  '  sopranome '  or  nick-name  for  everybody,  or  at  least  a 
shortening  of  the  Christian  name,  as  '  Checca'  and  '  Checco'  for  Francesca 
and  Francesco;  '  Pippo  '  for  Filippo  ;  '  Pepe  '  for  Giuseppe;   'Cola'  for 
Niccola ;  'Maso'for  Tomaso ;  'Teta'  for  Teresa;  'Lalla'  for  Adelaide; 
'  Lina'  for  Carolina ;  '  Tuta '  for  Geltrude ;  the  abbreviations  for  Giovanni 
are  innumerable. 

But  what  they  most  love  to  designate  people  by  is  a  description  of 
their  persons.  When  yon  come  home  from  your  walk,  your  servant  does 
not  tell  you  Mr.  and  Mrs.  So-and-so  have  called,  but  it  will  be  « Quel 
signore  vecchio  ingobbato'  (that  old  hump-backed  kind  of  gentleman),  if 
he  be  the  least  grey  and  high-shouldered,  however  young  he  may  be ;  or 
'  Quel  bel  giovane  alto '  (that  tall,  handsome,  young  gentleman),  whatever 
his  age,  if  he  be  only  bien  conserve.  Then  '  Quella  signora  alta,  secca,  che 
veste  di  lutto  '  (that  tall  thin  lady  dressed  in  mourning).  '  Quella  signora 
bella  bioiida,  giovane '  (that  lady,  pretty,  fair,  young).  Or  '  Quello  che 
porta  il  brillante'  (he  who  wears  a  brilliant),  because  the  same  friend 
happened  to  have  a  diamond  stud  in  his  cravat  one  day  ;  or  '  Quella  con- 
tessa  che  veste  di  cilestro,'  because  the  lady  happened  once  to  wear  a  blue 
dress,  and  so  on,  with  all  manner  of  signs  and  tokens  which  it  may  take 
you  half-an-hour  to  recognise  a  person  by,  if  you  ever  make  it  out  at  all. 
Or,  if  there  is  no  distinctive  mark  of  the  kind  to  seize  upon,  it  will  be 


364  Ciarpe. 


'  Quel  signore,'  or  '  quella  signora  di  Palazzo,'  or  '  Via,"  or  '  Piazza'  So-and- 
so.  And  this  not  from  the  difficulty  of  catching  a  foreign  name,  because 
it  is  still  more  in  vogue  when  designating  their  own  people  ;  if  you  are 
asking  for  the  address  of  a  servant,  a  tailor,  a  dressmaker,  &c.,  it  is  in  vain 
you  try  to  make  them  out  by  the  name,  you  must  do  your  best  to  describe 
them,  and  then  they  will  break  out  with  an  exclamation  hitting  it  off  for 
themselves  :  '  Ah  !  si,  quel  scimunito  '  (that  silly  -looking  fellow)  ;  '  quel 
gobbo'(that  high-shouldered  fellow—  lit.  'hunchbacked');  'quella  strega' 
(that  ugly  old  woman,  cunning  woman  —  lit.  '  witch  ')  ;  '  quella  bella  giovane 
alta  '  (that  tall  handsome  girl)  ;  '  quella  donna  bassetta  '  (that  short  little 
woman),  for  with  their  descriptions  as  with  their  names  they  must  super- 
add  a  diminutive  or  a  qualification,  and  '  basso  '  (short)  is  pretty  sure 
to  be  rendered  by  '  bassetto,'  '  piccola  '  (little)  by  '  piccinina,'  '  vecchio  ' 
(old)  by  '  vecchietto.'  'Quella  scimia'  or  'scimietta'  (that  old  woman,  or 
that  little  old  woman  who  looks  like  a  monkey).  '  Quella  donna  anziana  ' 
^that  respectable  old  woman).  '  Quella  donniciuola'  (that  nasty  little  old 
woman,  contemptible  old  woman).  '  Quel  ragazzino,  tanto  carino,  tanto 
caruccio  '  (that  nice  boy,  that  very  nice  boy).  '  Quel  vecchietto  '  (that  nice 
old  man)  ;  and  in  this  way  the  hero  of  this  story  is  designated  as  '  The  man 
who  has  a  daughter  to  marry.' 

3  '  Boccione,'  a  large  coarse  glass  bottle  commonly  used  in  Rome  for 
carrying  wine.     When  it  is   covered  with  twisted  rushes  —  like  the   oil- 
flasks  that  come  to  England  —  it  is  called  a  '  damigiana,'  a  young  lady,  a 
little  lady. 

4  '  Mettetevelo  addietro.'     Lit.  '  Put  it  behind  you,"  a  way  of  saying. 
'  Never  mind  it,'  '  don't  care  about  it.'     But  the  woman  is  supposed  to  be  so 
foolish  that  she  understands  it  literally. 

5  The  Italian  custom  of  the  newly  married  couples  continuing  to  live 
with  the  parents  of  one  or  other  of  them  is  here  brought  in. 

6  '  Tegame,'   a  flat  earthen  pan  much  in  vogue  in  Roman  kitchens  ; 
'  ova  in  tegame  '  is  a  favourite  and  not  a  bad  dish.    A  little  fresh  butter  is 
oiled,  and  the  eggs  are  dropped  into  it  as  for  poaching,  and  very  slowly 
cooked  in  it  ;  when  scarcely  set  they  are  reckoned  done. 

[We  have  the  German  of  this  story  in  '  Die  Klugen  Leute,' 
Grimm,  p.  407,  and  again  the  beginning  of  it  in  '  Die  Kluge 
Else  '  (Clever  Lizzie),  Grimm,  p.  137  (which  ends  with  the  despera- 
tion of  the  wife  as  the  second  Roman  version  ends  with  the 
death  of  the  husband)  ;  in  some  variants  given  in  the  '  Russian 
Folk  Tales,'  pp.  53—4  ;  in  an  Italian-Tirolese  tale,  '  Le  donne 
matte  '  (the  title  resembling  that  of  the  next  Roman  version)  ; 
and  the  ending,  in  the  Norse  'Not  a  pin  to  choose  between 
them.'  Senhor  de  Saraiva  told  me  the  following  Portuguese  story 
entitled  '  Pedro  da  Malas  Artes'  (Tricky  Peter),  which  embodies 
these  incidents,  but  opens  with  a  different  purport. 


Tricky  Peter.  365 

TRICKY  PETER  was  a  knowing  blade ;  so  lie  went  out  on  his 
travels  to  set  all  the  world  straight ;  and  he  found  plenty  to  do. 

In  the  very  first  town  he  came  to  there  was  a  great  commo- 
tion. A  bride  had  come  to  church  to  be  married,  and  there  she 
stuck  at  the  church  door,  mounted  on  her  mule,  while  the  people 
deliberated  whether  they  should  facilitate  her  ingress  by  cutting 
off  some  of  her  head  or  some  of  the  mule's  legs. 

'  Let  her  alight  and  walk  in,'  said  Tricky  Peter ;  '  and  the 
door  will  be  high  enough.'  And  all  the  people  applauded  his 
wisdom. 

At  the  next  town  he  found  the  people  all  full  of  discontent, 
because  one  of  them  had  to  sit  up  by  turns  to  tell  the  others 
when  the  sun  rose. 

'  I'll  give  you  a  bird  to  perform  that  office,'  said  Tricky 
Peter ;  and  he  went  home  and  fetched  a  cock,  and  then  they 
could  all  rest  comfortably. 

After  this  the  story  has  no  more  silly  people  to  deal  with  ; 
but  Peter  fools  a  giant,  and  overcomes  his  strength  with  craft. 
He  does  not  seem,  either,  to  get  paid  for  his  services,  as  do  the 
heroes  of  '  La  Sposa  Cese,'  and  all  the  others. 

I  have  also  another  Roman  story  (too  long  to  print  here)  of 
a  man  who  sets  out  with  a  different  purpose  again,  who  meets 
with  three  sets  of  people  afflicted  with  similar  follies,  and  who 
also  makes  a  good  deal  of  money  by  his  counsel ;  together  with 
various  stories  in  which  men  go  to  fetch  their  wives  back 
from  the  devil's  kingdom,  get  three  commissions  of  a  similar 
nature  by  the  way,  for  executing  which  they  get  richly  paid  on 
their  return. 

There  is  a  story  in  the  5th  Tantra  given  as  '  Le  Brahme  aux 
vains  projets'  in  Abbe  Dubois'  translation  of  the  '  Pantcha- 
Tantra,  which  has  an  analogous  opening  to  that  of  '  La  Sposa 
Cece.'  There  is  another  among  the  '  Contes  Indiens '  published 
at  the  end  of  it,  in  which  four  Brahmans  have  a  great  dispute  as 
to  which  of  them  can  claim  to  be  the  greatest  idiot — a  strife  only 
second  in  folly  to  that  of  the  '  Three  Indolent  Boys '  in  Grimm, 
p.  551 — and  they  each  narrate  such  proof  of  having  acted  with 
consummate  folly  that  the  decision  given  is  that  there  is  not  a 
pin  to  choose  between  them. 

In  a  somewhat  analogous  story,  which  he  calls  *  Aventures  du 


366  Ciarpe. 

Gourou  Paramarta,1  one  of  the  disciples  commits  the  counting 
mistake  '  of  the  well-known  Irishman,1  in  omitting  to  reckon 
himself  in  his  computation,  also  found  in  the  Eussian  '  Folk 
Tales,'  p.  54,  and  they  go  to  buy  a  foal's  egg,  just  as  do  certain 
peasants  of  the  Trentino  in  an  Italian-Tirolese  '  storiella  da 
rider  '  l  (laughable  story).] 

LA  SPOSA   CECE. 


Another  version  of  this  story  was  told  me,  or  rather  an  en- 
tirely different  story  embodying  the  same  purport,  which,  though 
full  of  fun,  turned  on  the  double  meanings  of  common  words  of 
household  use  too  homely  for  the  most  part,  and  some  too  coarse 
to  please  the  English  reader.  The  husband,  among  other  things, 
tells  his  wife  to  prepare  dinner  for  a  friend  and  to  mind  she  has 
'  brocoli  strascinati  '  and  '  uovi  spersi,'  2  as  they  are  his  favourite 
dishes.  '  Strascinare  '  is  to  drag  anything  along,  but  is  techni- 
cally used  to  express  brocoli  chopped  up  and  fried,  the  commonest 
Roman  dish.  '  Spergere '  is  to  scatter,  but  the  word  is  used 
among  common  people  to  express  eggs  poached  in  broth,  a 
favourite  delicacy;  (eggs  poached  as  in  England  are  called  '  uova 
in  bianco').  The  wife,  taking  the  words  literally,  drags  the 
brocoli  all  over  the  house  and  all  over  the  yard,  till  it  is  so 
nasty  it  cannot  be  eaten,  instead  of  frying  it,  and  scatters  the 
eggs  all  about  the  place  instead  of  poaching  them,  and  so  on 
through  a  number  of  other  absurdities  difficult  to  explain  in 
detail.  In  the  end  the  husband  falls  ill,  partly  from  her  bad 
cooking  and  partly  from  annoyance ;  a  doctor  is  called  in,  who 
tells  her  (among  other  directions  which  she  similarly  misunder- 
stands), that  he  must  have  nothing  but  '  brodo,'  3  but  she  is  to 
make  it  '  alto,  alto.'  '  Alto '  is  literally  '  high,'  but  he  uses  it  for 
'  good,' '  strong ; '  she,  however,  understands  him  to  mean  her  to 
make  it  in  a  high  place,  and  goes  up  on  the  roof  to  make  it. 
When  the  husband  asks  for  it  she  says  she  cannot  get  it  for  him 
then  as  it  is  up  on  the  roof. 

Ultimately  the  husband  dies  of  vexation. 

There  is  a  very  familiar  German  story  which  everyone  who  has 


The  Foolish  Woman.  367 

any  acquaintance  with  the  people  must  have  met,  of  a  lady  who 
complains  to  her  servant  that  the  tea  has  not  '  drawn,'  and  the 
simple  girl  answers,  '  It  is  not  my  fault,  I  have  drawn  it  all 
about  the  place  enough  I'm  sure  '  (Ich  hab'  es  genug  umherge- 
zogen). 

1  Such  notions  are  not  altogether  so  impossible  as  they  seem.     I  myself 
heard  a  very  intelligent  little  boy  one  day  say  to  his  mother,  '  Mama,  I 
should  so  like  to  see  a  horse's  egg.'    '  A  horse's  egg,  my  dear — there  are  no 
such  things,'  was  the  reply  of  course.     '  Oh  yes,  there  must  be,'  rejoined 
the  child,  '  because  I've  heard  Pa  several  times  talk  about  finding  a  mare's 
pest.' 

2  '  Uovo,'  by  the  way,  is  a  word  with  which  great  liberties  are  taken. 
The  correct  singular  is  '  uovo '  and  the  plural  '  uova,'  but  it  is  very  common 
to  make  the  plural  in  '  i '  and  also  to  say  '  uova '  for  the  singular,  and 
'  uove '  for  plural,  while  the  initial  '  u  '  is  most  usually  dropped  out. 

3  'Brodo'  is  beef-tea  or  clear  broth  with  nothing  in  it;  broth  with  ver- 
micelli or  anything  else  in  it  is  '  minestra ; '  '  zuppa,'  which  sounds  most 
like  '  soup,'  is  rather  '  sop,'  and  when  applied  to  broth,  means  strictly  only 
broth  with  bread  in  it,  from  '  inzuppare,'  to  steep,  soak,  or  sop ;  but  it  is 
also  used  for  broth  with  anything  else  in  it  besides  bread,  but  never  with- 
out anything  in  it. 


THE  FOOLISH  WOMAN.1 

THERE  was  once  a  couple  well-to-do  in  the  world,  who  had 
one  only  daughter. 

The  son  of  a  neighbour  came  to  ask  her  in  marriage, 
and  as  the  father  thought  he  would  do,  the  father  asked 
him  to  dinner,  and  sent  the  daughter  down  into  the  cellar 
to  draw  the  wine. 

'  If  I  am  married,'  said  the  girl  to  herself,  and  began 
to  cry  as  she  drew  the  wine,  '  I  shall  have  a  child,  and 
the  child  will  be  a  boy,  and  the  boy  will  be  called  Petrillo, 
and  by-and-by  he  will  die,  and  I  shall  be  left  to  lament 
him,  and  to  cry  all  day  long  "  Petrillo  !  Petrillo !  where 
are  you  I " '  and  she  went  on  crying,  and  the  wine  went  on 
running  over. 

Then  the  mother  went  down  to  see  what  kept  her  so 


368  Ciarpe. 

long,  and  she  repeated  the  story  all  over  to  her,  and  the 
mother  answered,  '  Eight  you  are,  my  girl ! '  and  she,  too, 
began  to  cry,  and  the  wine  was  all  the  time  running 
over. 

Then  the  father  went  down,  and  they  repeated  the 
story  to  him,  and  he,  too,  said,  '  Eight  you  are ! '  and  he, 
too,  began  to  cry,  and  the  wine  all  the  time  went  on 
running  all  over  the  floor. 

Then  the  young  man  also  goes  down  to  see  what  is  the 
matter,  and  stops  the  wine  running,  and  makes  them  all 
come  up. 

'  But,'  he  says,  '  I'll  not  marry  the  girl  till  I  have 
wandered  over  the  world  and  found  other  three  as  simple 
as  you.'  He  dines  with  them,  and  sets  out  on  his  search. 

The  first  night  he  goes  to  bed  in  an  inn,  and  in  the 
morning  he  hears  in  the  room  next  him  such  lamenting 
and  complaining  that  he  goes  in  to  see  what  is  the  matter. 
A  man  is  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  bed  lamenting  because 
he  cannot  get  his  stockings  on. 

The  young  man  says,  '  Take  hold  of  one  side  this  way, 
and  the  other  side  that  way,  and  pull  them  up.' 

'  Ah,  to  be  sure ! '  cries  the  man,  and  gives  him  a 
hundred  scudi  for  the  benefit  he  has  done  him. 

'  There's  one  of  my  three  simpletons,  at  all  events,' 
says  the  young  man,  and  journeys  on. 

The  next  day,  at  the  inn  where  he  spends  the  night, 
he  hears  a  noise  bru,  bru  !  goes  in  to  see,  and  finds  a  man 
fruitlessly  trying  to  put  walnuts  into  a  sack  by  sticking  a 
fork  into  them. 

'  You'll  never  do  it  that  way,'  says  the  young  man  ; 
and  he  shows  him  how  to  scoop  them  up  with  both  his 
hands  and  so  pour  them  in. 

'  Ah,  to  be  sure ! '  answers  the  man,  and  gives  him  a 
hundred  scudi  for  the  favour  he  has  done  him. 

'  There  is  my  second  simpleton,'  says  the  young  man, 
and  goes  further. 


The  Foolish  Woman.  369 

The  third  day Ah  !    I  can't  remember  what   he 

meets  the  third  day  ;  but  it  is  something  equally  stupid, 
and  he  gets  another  hundred  scudi,  and  goes  back  and 
marries  the  girl  as  he  had  promised. 

When  they  had  been  married  some  time,  he  goes  out 
for  two  or  three  days  to  shoot. 

c  I'll  come  with  you,'  says  the  wife. 

'  Well,  it's  not  quite  the  thing,'  answered  he ;  '  but 
perhaps  it's  better  than  leaving  you  at  home ;  but  mind 
you  pull  the  door  after  you.' 

'  Oh  yes,  of  course,'  answers  the  simple  wife,  and  pulls 
it  so  effectually  that  she  lifts  it  off  its  hinges  and  carries 
it  along  with  her. 

When  they  had  gone  some  way  he  looks  back  and 
sees  her  carrying  the  door. 

'  What  on  earth  are  you  bringing  the  door  along  for  ! ' 
he  cries. 

4  You  told  me  to  pull  it  after  me,'  answers  she. 

4  Of  course,  I  only  meant  you  to  pull  it  to,  to  make  the 
house  secure,'  he  says. 

'  If  merely  pulling  it  to,  made  the  house  secure,  how 
much  securer  it  must  be  when  I  pull  it  all  this  way ! ' 
answers  she. 

He  finds  it  useless  to  reason  with  her,  and  they  go  on. 
At  night  they  climb  up  into  a  tree  to  sleep,  the  woman 
still  carrying  the  door  with  her.  A  band  of  robbers  come 
and  count  their  gains  under  the  tree ;  the  woman  from 
sheer  weariness,  and  though  she  believes  it  will  rouse  the 
robbers  to  come  and  kill  them,  drops  the  door  upon  them. 
They  take  it  for  an  earthquake  and  run  away.  The  man 
and  his  wife  then  gather  up  the  money,  and  are  rich  for 
the  rest  of  their  lives. 

1  '  La  Donna  Mattarella.'  '  Matto '  is  simply  '  mad,'  with  the  diminu- 
tive '  ella'  it  conies  to  mean  '  slightly  mad,'  '  simple.' 


B  B 


370  Ciar} 


[A  version  from  Sinigaglia  was  very  like  the  last.  It  only  took  up  the 
story,  however,  after  the  husband  and  wife  are  married.  The  first  silly 
thing  the  wife  does  is  the  feat  of  the  'brocoli  strascinati,' as  in 'La 
Sposa  Cece,'  No.  2.  Some  variety  is  always  thrown  in  in  the  way  of 
telling.  This  wife  was  represented  as  having  a  very  sweet  voice,  and 
saying,  '  Si,  si,  marito  mio ! '  in  the  gentlest  and  tenderest  way  iii  the 
world,  to  everything  her  husband  tells  her,  though  she  mismanages  every- 
thing so.  After  the  brocoli  affitir  he  tells  her  to  cook  some  beans  for 
dinner.  '  Si,  si,  marito  mio,'  she  says  in  her  sweet  tone,  but  takes  four 
beans  only  and  boils  them  in  a  pot  of  water.  When  he  comes  in  and  asks 
if  the  beans  are  done,  she  says,  '  Si,  si.  marito  mio  ! '  She  says  she  has 
cooked  two  beans  apiece,  but  one  has  boiled  away,  so  she  will  only  take 
one  for  her  share. 

He  finds  it  impossible  to  live  with  her,  and  goes  away,  but  she  in  her 
simplicity  says  if  he  goes  away  she  will  go  with  him !  When  he  finds  he 
can't  prevent  this  he  tells  her  to  pull  the  door  after  her,  and  the  story  has 
the  same  ending  as  the  last. 

After  tales  of  simple  wives  come  similar  tales  cf  simple 
boys.  Compare  '  Eussian  Folktales,'  pp.  10  and  49.  An  analo- 
gous incident  to  the  selling  of  the  linen  to  a  statue  in  the 
following  is  told  of  a  grown-up  peasant  in  Grimm's  '  Der  gute 
Handel,'  p.  30,  which  story  is  not  unlike  one  called  '  How  the 
poorest  became  the  richest '  I  have  given  from  the  German- 
Tirolese  province  of  Vorarlberg  at  the  end  of  *  Household  Stories 
from  the  Land  of  Hofer,'  a  close  counterpart  of  which  I  have 
met  in  a  Roman  periodical,  told  as  collected  at  Modena.  The 
Ttalian-Tirolese  counterpart  bears  the  name  of  '  Turlulu,'  and 
resembles  the  Roman  very  closely.  There  is  a  place  in  German 
Tirol  where  they  not  onl»y  tell  the  story,  but  point  out  the 
BildstocMein  (the  wayside  image),  to  which  the  simple  boy  sold 
his  linen ;  I  cannot  recall  the  place  now,  though  I  remember 
having  occasion  to  mention  it  in  '  Traditions  of  Tirol '  in  the 
'  Monthly  Packet.'  In  the  German  there  is  also  '  Der  gescheidte 
Hans,'  which  is  somewhat  different  in  structure ;  but  Scheible, 
'  Schaltjahr,'  i.  493,  gives  a  story  which  contains  both  ways  of 
telling.] 


The  Booby.  371 


THE  BOOBY.1 

THEY  say  there  was  once  a  widow  woman  who  had  a  very 
simple  son.  Whatever  she  set  him  to  do  he  muddled  in 
some  way  or  other. 

'  What  am  I  to  do  ? '  said  the  poor  mother  to  a  neigh- 
bour one  day.  *  The  boy  eats  and  drinks,  and  has  to  be 
clothed ;  what  am  I  to  do  if  I  am  to  make  no  profit  of 
him?' 

'  You  have  kept  him  at  home  long  enough; '  answered 
the  neighbour.  'Try  sending  him  out,  now;  maybe  that 
will  answer  better.' 

The  mother  took  the  advice,  and  the  next  time  she 
had  got  a  piece  of  linen  spun  she  called  her  boy,  arid  said 
to  him : 

'  If  I  send  you  out  to  sell  this  piece  of  linen,  do  you 
think  you  can  manage  to  do  it  without  committing  any 
folly?' 

1  Yes,  mama,'  answered  the  booby. 

*  You  always  say  "  yes  mama,"  but  you  do  contrive  to 
muddle  everything  all  the  same,'  replied  the  mother. 
*  Now,  listen  attentively  to  all  I  say.  Walk  straight 
along  the  road  without  turning  to  right  or  left ;  don't  take 
less  than  such  and  such  a  price  for  it.  Don't  have  any- 
thing to  say  to  women  who  chatter ;  whether  you  sell  it  to 
anyone  you  meet  by  the  way,  or  carry  it  into  the  market, 
offer  it  only  to  some  quiet  sort  of  body  whom  you  may 
see  standing  apart,  and  not  gossiping  and  prating,  for 
such  as  they  will  persuade  you  to  take  some  sort  of  a  price 
that  won't  suit  me  at  all.' 

The  booby  promised  to  follow  these  directions  very 
exactly,  and  started  on  his  way. 

On  he  walked,  turning  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to 
the  left,  thus  passing  the  turnings  which  led  to  the  villages, 
to  one  or  other  of  which  he  ought  to  have  gone.  But  his 

B  B  2 


372  Ciarpe. 

mother  had  only  meant  that  he  was  not  to  turn  off  the 
pathway  and  lose  himself. 

Presently  he  met  the  wife  of  the  syndic  of  the  next 
town,  who  was  driving  out  with  her  maids,  but  had  got 
out  to  walk  a  little  stretch  of  the  way,  as  the  day  was  fine. 
The  syndic's  wife  was  talking  cheerfully  with  her  maids, 
and  when  one  of  them  caught  sight  of  the  simpleton,  she 
said  to  her  mistress : 

'  Here  is  the  simple  son  of  the  poor  widow  by  the  brook.' 

4  What  are  you  going  to  do,  my  good  lad  ?  '  said  the 
syndic's  wife  kindly. 

'  Not  going  to  tell  you,  because  you  were  chattering 
and  gossiping,'  replied  the  booby  boorishly,  and  tried  to 
pass  on. 

The  syndic's  wife  forgave  his  boorishness,  and  added  : 

'  I  see  your  mother  has  sent  you .  to  sell  this  piece  of 
linen.  I  will  buy  it  of  you,  and  that  will  save  you  walk- 
ing further ;  put  it  in  the  carriage,  and  I'll  give  you  so 
much  for  it.' 

Though  she  had  offered  him  twice  as  much  as  his 
mother  had  told  him  to  get  for  it,  he  would  only  answer  : 

'  Can't  sell  it  to  you,  because  you  were  chattering  and 
gossiping.' 

Nor  could  they  prevail  on  him  to  stop  a  moment  longer. 

Further  along  he  came  to  a  statue  by  the  roadside. 

'  Here's  one  who  stands  apart  and  doesn't  chatter,'  said 
the  booby  to  himself.  '  This  is  the  one  to  sell  the 
linen  to.'  Then  aloud  to  the  statue,  '  Will  you  buy  my 
linen,  good  friend  ?  '  Then  to  himself.  '  She  doesn't 
speak,  so  it's  all  right.'  Then  to  the  statue,  '  The  price  is 
so-and-so ;  have  the  money  ready  against  I  come  back,  as  I 
have  to  go  on  and  buy  some  yarn  for  mother.' 

On  he  went  and  bought  the  yarn,  and  then  came  back 
to  the  statue.  Some  one  passing  by  meanwhile,  and  seeing 
the  linen  lie  there  had  picked  it  up  and  walked  off  with  it. 

Finding  it  gone,  the  booby  said  to  himself,  'It's  all  right, 


The  Booby.  373 

she's  taken  it.'  Then  to  the  statue,  « Where's  the  money 
I  told  you  to  have  ready  against  I  came  back  ? '  As  the 
statue  remained  silent,  the  booby  began  to  get  uneasy. 
'  My  mother  will  be  finely  angry  if  I  go  back  without 
the  linen  or  the  money,'  he  said  to  himself.  Then  to  the 
statue,  4  If  you  don't  give  me  the  money  directly  I'll  hit 
you  on  the  head.' 

The  booby  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  lifting  his  thick 
rough  walking-stick,  he  gave  the  statue  such  a  blow  that 
he  knocked  the  head  off. 

But  the  statue  was  hollow,  and  filled  with  gold  coin. 

'  That's  where  you  keep  your  money,  is  it  ?  '  said  the 
booby,  '  all  right,  I  can  pay  myself.'  So  he  filled  his 
pockets  with  money  and  went  back  to  his  mother. 

4  Look,  mama  !  here's  the  price  of  the  piece  of  linen.' 

4  All  right ! '  said  the  mother  out  loud ;  but  to  herself 
she  said,  4  where  can  I  ever  hide  all  this  lot  of  money  ?  I 
have  got  no  place  to  hide  it  but  in  this  earthen  jar,  and 
if  he  knows  how  much  it  is  worth,  he  will  be  letting  out 
the  secret  to  other  people,  and  I  shall  be  robbed.' 

So  she  put  the  money  in  the  earthen  jar,  and  said  to 
the  boy  : 

4  They've  cheated  you  in  making  you  think  that  was 
coin  ;  it's  nothing  but  a  lot  of  rusty  nails  ;  *  but  never 
mind,  you'll  know  better  next  time.'  And  she  went  out  to 
her  work. 

While  she  was  gone  out  to  her  work  there  came  by  an 
old  rag-merchant. 

4  Ho  !  here,  rag-merchant ! '  said  the  booby,  who  had 
acquired  a  taste  for  trading.  4  What  will  you  give  me 
for  this  lot  of  rusty  nails  ? '  and  he  showed  him  the  jar 
full  of  gold  coin. 

The  rag-merchant  saw  that  he  had  to  do  with  an 
idiot,  so  he  said  : 

4  Well,  old  nails  are  not  worth  very  much ;  but  as  I'm 
a  good-natured  old  chap,  I'll  give  you  twelve  pauls  for 


374  Ciarpe. 

them,'  because  he  knew  he  must  offer  enough  to  seem  a 
prize  to  the  idiot. 

«  You  may  have  them  at  that,'  said  the  booby.  And 
the  rag-merchant  poured  the  coin  out  into  his  sack,  and 
gave  the  fool  the  twelve  pauls. 

'  Look  mama,  look !  I've  sold  that  lot  of  old  rusty 
worthless  nails  for  twelve  pauls.  Isn't  that  a  good 
bargain  ? ' 

'  Sold  them  for  twelve  pauls ! '  cried  the  widow,  tearing 
her  hair,  '  Why,  it  was  a  fortune  all  in  gold  coin.' 

'  Can't  help  it,  mama,'  replied  the  booby ;  '  you  told 
me  they  were  rusty  nails.' 

Another  day  she  told  him  to  shut  the  door  of  the  cot- 
tage ;  but  as  he  went  to  do  it  he  lifted  the  door  off  its 
hinges.  His  mother  called  after  him  in  an  angry  voice, 
which  so  frightened  him  that  he  ran,  away,  carrying  the 
door  on  his  back. 

As  he  went  along,  some  one  to  tease  him,  said,  '  Where 
did  you  steal  that  door  ?'  which  frightened  him  still  more, 
and  he  climbed  up  in  a  tree  with  it  to  hide  it. 

At  night  there  came  a  band  of  robbers  under  the  tree, 
and  counted  out  all  their  gains  in  large  bags  of  money. 
The  booby  was  so  frightened  at  the  sight  of  so  many 
fierce-looking  robbers,  that  he  began  to  tremble  and  let  go 
of  the  door. 

The  door  fell  with  a  bang  in  the  midst  of  the  robbers, 
who  thinking  it  must  be  that  the  police  were  upon  them, 
decamped,  leaving  all  their  money  behind. 

The  booby  came  down  from  the  tree  and  carried  the 
money  home  to  his  mother,  and  they  became  so  rich 
that  she  was  able  to  appoint  a  servant  to  attend  to 
him,  and  keep  him  from  doing  any  more  mischief. 

1  c  II  Tonto.' 

*  '  Ohiodacci ; '  '  chiodi,'  nails  ;  '  ehiodacci,'  old  rusty  nails. 
[After  the  boys,  the  girls  come  in  for  their  share  of  Lard 


The  Gluttonous  Girl.  375 

jokes ;  here  is  one  who  figures  both  as  a  daughter  and  a  wife. 
Grimm  has  the  same,  with  a  slight  variation,  as  '  Kumpelstilzchen,' 
p.  219,  and  the  Italian- Tirol  Tales  give  it  as  '  Tarandando; '  the 
incident  on  which  these  two  hinge  of  a  supernatural  being  giving 
his  help  on  condition  of  the  person  he  favours  remembering  his 
name,  is  of  frequent  occurrence.  I  have  met  it  in  two  German- 
Tirol  ese  stories,  '  The  Wilder  Jager  and  the  Baroness,'  and  in 
'  Klein-Else '  in  '  Household  Stories,'  and  in  a  local  tradition 
told  me  at  Salzburg,  which  I  have  given  in « Traditions  of  Tirol,' 
No.  XVI.  in  '  Monthly  Packet,'  each  time  the  sprite  gets  a  new 
name ;  in  this  one  it  was  '  Hahnenzuckerl.'  The  supernatural 
helper  delivering  the  girl  from  future  as  well  as  present  labour 
occurs  in  the  Spanish  equivalent, '  What  Ana  saw  in  the  Sunbeam,' 
in  '  Patranas,'  but  in  favour  of  a  good,  instead  of  a  lazy  or 
greedy  girl ;  and  so  with  the  girl  in  the  Norse  tale  of  '  The 
Three  Aunts.'  '  Die  faule  Spinnerin,'  Grimm,  p.  495,  helps  her- 
self to  the  same  end  without  supernatural  aid.] 


THE  GLUTTONOUS  GIRL.1 

THERE  was  a  poor  woman  who  went  out  to  work  by  the 
day.  She  had  one  idle,  good-for-nothing  daughter,  who 
would  never  do  any  work,  and  cared  for  nothing  but  eating, 
always  taking  the  best  of  everything  for  herself,  and  not 
caring  how  her  mother  fared. 

One  day  the  mother,  when  she  went  out  to  her  work, 
left  the  girl  some  beans  to  cook  for  dinner,  and  some 
pieces  of  bacon-rind 2  to  stew  along  with  them.  When 
the  pieces  of  bacon-rind  were  nicely  done,  she  took  them 
out  and  eat  them  herself,  and  then  found  a  pair  of  dirty  old 
shoe-soles,  which  she  pared  in  slices,  and  put  them  into 
the  stew  for  her  mother. 

When  the  poor  mother  came  home,  not  only  were 
there  no  pieces  of  bacon  which  she  could  eat,  but  the 
beans  themselves  were  rendered  so  nasty  by  the  shoe-soles 


376  Ciarpe. 

that  she  could  not  eat  them  either.  Determined  to  give 
her  daughter  a  good  lesson,  once  for  all,  on  this  occasion, 
she  took  her  outside  her  cottage  door,  and  beat  her  well 
with  a  stick. 

Just  as  she  was  administering  this  chastisement,  a 
farmer  3  came  by. 

'  What  are  you  beating  this  pretty  lass  for  ? '  asked 
the  man. 

'  Because  she  will  work  so  hard  at  her  household  duties 
that  she  works  on  Sundays  and  holidays  the  same  as  com- 
mon days,'  answered  the  mother,  who,  bad  as  her  daughter 
was,  yet  had  not  the  heart  to  give  her  a  bad  character. 

4  That  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of  a  mother  beat- 
ing her  child  for  doing  too  much  work ;  the  general  com- 
plaint is  that  they  do  too  little.  Will  you  let  me  have 
her  for  a  wife  ?  I  should  like  such  a  wife  as  that.' 

'  Impossible ! '  replied  the  mother,  in  order  to  enhance 
her  daughter's  value  ;  '  she  does  all  the  work  of  the  house, 
I  can't  spare  her ;  what  shall  I  do  without  her  ? ' 

'  I  must  give  you  something  to  make  up  for  the  loss,' 
replied  the  merchant ;  '  but  such  a  notable  wife  as  this  I 
have  long  been  in  search  of,  and  I  must  not  miss  the 
chance.' 

'  But  I  cannot  spare  such  a  notable  daughter,  either,' 
persisted  the  mother. 

1  What  do  you  say  if  I  give  you  five  hundred  scudi  ? ' 
'  If  I  let  her  go,  it  is  not  because  of  the  five  hundred 
scudi,'  said  the  mother ;  'it  is  because  you  seem  a  hus- 
band, who  will  really  appreciate  her;  though  I  don't 
say  five  hundred  scudi  will  not  be  a  help  to  a  poor  lone 
widow.' 

'  Let  it  be  agreed  then.  I  am  going  now  to  the  fair  ; 
when  I  come  back  let  the  girl  be  ready,  and  I'll  take  her 
back  with  me.' 

Accordingly,  when  the  farmer  returned  from  the  fair, 
he  fetched  the  girl  away. 


The  Gluttonous  Girl.  377 

When  he  got  home  his  mother  came  out  to  ask  how 
his  affairs  had  prospered  at  the  fair. 

'  Middling  well,  at  the  fair,'  replied  the  man ;  '  but, 
by  the  way,  I  found  a  treasure,  and  I  have  brought  her 
home  to  make  her  my  wife.  She  is  so  hardworking  that 
she  can't  be  kept  from  working,  even  on  Sundays.' 

'  She  doesn't  look  as  if  there  was  much  work  in  her,' 
observed  the  mother  dryly ;  'but  if  you're  satisfied  that's 
enough.' 

All  went  well  enough  the  first  week,  because  she  was  not 
expected  to  do  much  just  at  first,  but  at  the  end  of  that 
time  the  husband  had  to  go  to  a  distant  fair  which  would 
keep  him  absent  three  weeks.  Before  he  went  he  took  his 
new  wife  up  into  the  store-room,  and  said,  '  Here  are 
provisions  of  all  sorts,  and  you  will  have  all  you  like  to 
eat  and  drink ;  and  here  is  a  quantity  of  hemp,  which  you 
can  amuse  yourself  with  spinning  and  weaving  if  you  want 
more  employment  than  merely  keeping  the  place  in  order.' 

Then  he  gave  her  a  set  of  rooms  to  herself,  next  the 
store-chamber,  that  there  might  be  no  cause  of  quarrel 
with  the  mother-in-law,  who,  he  knew,  was  inclined  to  be 
jealous  of  her,  and  said  good-bye. 

Left  to  herself,  she  did  no  more  work  than  she  could 
help ;  all  the  nice  things  she  found  she  cooked  and  ate, 
and  that  was  all  the  work  she  did.  As  to  the  hemp,  she 
never  touched  it ;  nor  did  she  even  clean  up  the  place,  or 
attempt  to  put  it  tidy. 

When  the  husband  had  been  gone  a  fortnight,  the 
mother-in-law  came  up  to  see  how  she  was  going  on,  and 
when  she  saw  the  hemp  untouched,  and  the  place  in  dis- 
order, she  said,  « So  this  is  how  you  go  on  when  your 
husband  is  away ! ' 

'  You  mind  your  affairs,  and  I'll  mind  mine,' 4  answered 
the  wife,  and  the  mother-in-law  went  away  offended. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  true  that  in  eight  days  the  hus- 
band would  be  back,  and  might  expect  to  see  something 


378  Ciarpe. 

done,  so  she  took  up  a  lot  of  hemp  and  began  trying  to 
spin  it ;  but,  as  she  had  no  idea  of  how  to  do  it,  she  went 
on  in  the  most  absurd  way  imaginable  with  it. 

As  she  stood  on  the  top  of  the  outside  staircase,  twisting 
it  this  way  and  that,  there  passed  three  deformed  fairies. 
One  was  lame,  and  one  squinted,6  and  one  had  her  head 
all  on  one  side,  because  she  had  a  fish-bone  stuck  in  her 
throat. 

The  three  fairies  called  out  to  ask  what  she  was  doing, 
and  when  she  said  *  spinning,'  the  one  who  squinted 
laughed  so  much  that  her  eyes  came  quite  right,  and  the 
one  who  had  a  bone  stuck  in  her  throat  laughed  so  much 
that  the  bone  came  out,  and  her  head  became  straight 
again  like  other  people's,  and  when  the  lame  one  saw  the 
others  laughing  so  much,  she  ran  so  fast  to  see  what  it  was 
that  her  lameness  was  cured. 

Then  the  three  fairies  said  : 

'  Since  she  has  cured  us  of  our  ailments,  we  must  go 
in  and  do  her  a  good  turn.' 

So  they  went  in  and  took  the  hemp  and  span  it,  and 
wove  it,  and  did  as  much  in  the  six  remaining  days  as 
any  human  being  could  have  done  in  twenty  years ;  more- 
over, they  cleaned  up  everything,  and  made  everything 
look  spick-and-span  new. 

Then  they  gave  her  a  bag  of  walnuts,  saying,  '  in  half 
an  hour  your  husband  will  be  home ;  go  to  bed  and  put 
this  bag  of  walnuts  under  your  back.  When  he  comes  in 
say  you  have  worked  so  hard  that  all  your  bones  are  out 
of  joint;  then  move  the  bag  of  walnuts  and  they  will 
make  a  noise,  e-r-r-r-r,  and  he  will  think  it  is  your  bones 
which  are  loosened,  and  will  say  you  must  never  work 
again.' 

When  the  husband  came  home  his  mother  went  out  to 
meet  him,  saying — 

'  I  told  you  I  did  not  think  there  was  much  work  in 
your  "  treasure."  When  you  go  up  you'll  see  what  a  fine 


The  Gluttonous  Girl.  379 

mess  the  place  is  all  in ;  and  as  to  the  hemp,  you  had 
better  have  left  it  locked  up,  for  a  fine  mess  she  has  made 
of  that.' 

But  the  husband  went  up  and  found  the  place  all  in 
shining  order,  and  so  much  hemp  spun  and  woven  as 
could  scarcely  be  got  through  in  twenty  years.  But  the 
wife  was  laid  up  in  bed. 

When  the  husband  came  near  the  bed  she  moved  the 
bag  of  walnuts  and  they  went  c-r-r-r-r. 

'  You  have  done  a  lot  of  work  indeed ! '  said  the 
husband. 

'  Yes,'  replied  the  wife  ;  '  but  I  have  put  all  my  bones 
out  of  joint ;  only  hear  how  they  rumble  ! '  and  she  moved 
the  walnuts  again,  and  they  went  c-r-r-r-r.  '  It  will  be 
sometime  before  I  am  about  again.' 

'  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear  ! '  said  the  husband ;  '  only  think 
of  such  a  treasure  of  a  wife  being  laid  up  by  such  mar- 
vellous diligence.' 

And  to  his  mother  he  said :  '  A  mother-in-law  has 
never  a  good  word  for  her  daughter-in-law  ;  what  you  told 
me  was  all  pure  invention.' 

But  to  the  wife  he  said  :  '  Mind  I  will  never  have  you 
do  any  work  again  as  long  as  you  live.' 

So  from  that  day  forth  she  had  no  work  to  do,  but  ate 
and  drank  and  amused  herself  from  morning  till  night. 

1  '  La  Ragazza  Golosa ; '  '  goloso '  means,  in  particular,  greedy  of  nice 
things. 

2  '  Codiche  di  presciuto.' 

3  '  Mercante  di  Campagna.'     See  Note  2,  p.  154. 

4  '  Voi  pensate  a  voi  ed  io  penso  a  me  ! '     '  Pensare '  is  much  used  in 
Eome  in  the  sense  of  '  to  attend  to,'  '  to  provide  for.' 

5  '  Guercia,'  see  Note  3  to  '  The  Two  Friars ; '  in  this  case  squinting 
seems  intended. 


380  Ciarpe. 


2 
THE  GREEDY  DAUGHTER* 

THERE  was  a  mother  who  had  a  daughter  so  greedy  that 
she  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her.  Everything  in  the 
house  she  would  eat  up.  When  the  poor  mother  came 
home  from  work  there  was  nothing  left. 

But  the  girl  had  a  godfather-wolf.2  The  wolf  had  a 
frying-pan,  and  the  girl's  mother  was  too  poor  to  possess 
such  an  article ;  whenever  she  wanted  to  fry  anything  she 
sent  her  daughter  to  the  wolf  to  borrow  his  frying-pan, 
and  he  always  sent  a  nice  omelette  in  it  by  way  of  not 
sending  it  empty.  But  the  girl  was  so  greedy  and  so 
selfish  that  she  not  only  always  ate  the  omelette  by  the 
way,  but  when  she  took  the  frying-pan  back  she  filled  it 
with  all  manner  of  nasty  things. 

At  last  the  wolf  got  hurt  at  this  way  of  going  on,  and 
he  came  to  the  house  to  inquire  into  the  matter. 

Godfather-wolf  met  the  mother  on  the  step  of  the 
door,  returning  from  work. 

'  How  do  you  like  my  omelettes  ?  '  asked  the  wolf. 

'  I  am  sure  they  would  be  good  if  made  by  our  god- 
father-wolf,' replied  the  poor  woman ;  '  but  I  never  had 
the  honour  of  tasting  them.' 

*  Never  tasted  them  !  Why,  how  many  times  have 
you  sent  to  borrow  my  frying-pan  ? ' 

4 1  am  ashamed  to  say  how  many  times  ;  a  great  many, 
certainly.' 

1  And  every  time  I  sent  you  an  omelette  in  it.' 

'  Never  one  reached  me.' 

'  Then  that  hussey  of  a  girl  must  have  eaten  them  by 
the  way.' 

The  poor  mother,  anxious  to  screen  her  daughter, 
burst  into  all  manner  of  excuses,  but  the  wolf  now  saw 
how  it  all  was.  To  make  sure,  however,  he  added :  '  The 


The  Greedy  Daughter.  38  [ 

omelettes  would  have  been  better  had  the  frying-pan  not 
always  been  full  of  such  nasty  things.  I  did  my  best 
always  to  clean  it,  but  it  was  not  easy.' 

6  Oh,  godfather- wolf,  you  are  joking!  I  always  cleaned 
it,  inside  and  out,  as  bright  as  silver,  every  time  before  I 
sent  it  back  ! ' 

The  wolf  now  knew  all,  and  he  said  no  more  to  the 
mother  ;  but  the  next  day,  when  she  was  out,  he  came  back. 

When  the  girl  saw  him  coming  she  was  so  frightened 
and  self-convicted  that  she  ran  under  the  bed  to  hide 
herself. 

But  to  the  wolf  it  was  as  easy  to  go  under  a  bed  as 
anywhere  else  ;  so  under  he  went,  and  he  dragged  her  out 
and  devoured  her.  And  that  was  the  end  of  the  Greedy 
Daughter. 

1  '  La  Figlia  Ghiotta.'     '  Ghiotta '  and  '  golosa '  have  much  the  same 
meaning. 

2  '  Compare-lupo  '  (lit.  had  a  wolf  for  godfather) ;  '  compare '  for  '  com- 
pa-.lre,'  godfather,  gossip.     Lycanthropy  had  an   important  place  in   the 
mediaeval    as  in  the   earlier  mythologies ;  witches  were  often  accused  of 
turning  people  into  wolves  by  the  use  of  their  ointments.     Our  '  Little  Red 
Biding  Hood'  is  connected  with  it,  and  several  in  the  German  and  Tirolese 
Stories,  but  it  is  too  wide  a  subject  to  enter  upon  here.' 

[In  the  Italian-Tirolese  tales  is  one  very  similar  to  this,  called 
'  Catarinetta.' 

After  the  faults  of  the  young,  the  sins  of  the  old  have  their 
share  of  mocking.  In  the  '  Russian  Folk  Tales,'  pp.  46—50,  is  a 
miser  story,  but,  for  a  Avonder,  not  the  least  trace  of  similarity. 

In  Scheible's  '  Schaltjahr,'  vol.  i.  pp.  169-71,  is  a  very  quaint 
miser  story,  bringing  in  also  an  instance  of  wolf-transformation, 
which  is  said  to  have  happened  '  in  Italy,'  to  a  certain  Herr 
v.  Schotenberg,  on  August  14,  1798.  He  had  seized  a  poor 
peasant's  only  cow  for  a  debt,  and  when,  in  punishment,  all 
his  own  cows  were  struck  dead,  he  accused  the  peasant's  wife 
of  bewitching  them,  and  threatened  to  have  her  burnt.  The 
peasant's  wife  answered  that  it  was  the  judgment  of  God,  not  hers  ; 
and  upon  that  he  turned  to  the  crucifix  in  the  farmyard,  saying : 
'  Oh,  you  did  it,  did  you  ?  then  you  may  go  and  eat  the  carrion 


382  Ciarpe. 

you  have  made,  with  the  dogs.'  Then  he  took  out  his  pistol, 
shot  an  arm  off  the  crucifix,  and  flung  it  on  to  the  heap  of  dead 
cows,  saying,  '  Now  one  piece  of  carrion  lies  with  the  rest ! ' 
'  Albeit  it  was  only  a  wooden  image,'  says  the  account,  '  yet  it 
was  of  God  in  Heaven  that  he  spoke,  who  punished  him  on  the 
spot  by  turning  him  into  a  dog.'  The  portrait  which  accompanies 
the  story  is  quaint,  too,  having  a  human  face,  with  wolfish,  erect 
ears,  and  the  rest  of  the  body  like  a  dog.  He  wore  at  the  time  a 
fur  cloak,  of  pale  yellow  with  black  spots,  and  that  is  how  the 
dog's  fur  appeared ;  and  he  had  to  eat  carrion  all  his  life,  and 
follow  his  good  wife  about,  wherever  she  went.] 


THE  OLD  MISER* 

THEY  say  there  was  once  an  old  man  who  had  so  much 
money  he  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it.  He  had  cellars 
and  cellars,  where  all  the  floors  were  strewn  with  gold ; 
but  the  house  was  all  tumbling  down,  because  he  would 
not  spend  a  penny  in  repairing  it ;  and  for  all  food  he 
took  nothing  all  day  but  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  glass  of 
water. 

He  was  always  afraid  lest  some  one  should  come  to 
rob  him  of  his  wealth,  so  he  seldom  so  much  as  spoke  to 
anyone. 

One  day,  however,  a  busy,  talkative  neighbour  would 
have  her  say  out  with  him,  and  among  other  things  she 
said  :  '  How  can  you  go  on  living  in  that  ugly  old  house 
all  alone  now  ?  Why  don't  you  take  a  wife  ? ' 

'  A  wife  ! '  replied  the  old  miser ;  '  how  can  /  take  a 
wife  ?  How  am  I  to  afford  to  keep  a  wife,  I  should  like 
to  know  ? ' 

'  Nonsense  ! '  persisted  the  loquacious  neighbour ; 
'  you've  got  plenty  of  money,  you  know.  And  how  much 
better  you'd  be  if  you  had  a  wife.  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me,  now,  you  wouldn't  be  much  better  off  with  one  ?  Now 
answer  me  fairly.' 


The  Old  Miser.  *  383 

'  Well,  if  I  must  speak  the  truth,  as  you  are  so  urgent 
for  an  answer,'  replied  the  old  miser,  '  I  don't  mean  to  say 
I  haven't  often  thought  I  should  like  a  wife  ;  but  I  am 
waiting  till  I  find  one  who  can  live  upon  air.'2 

'  Well,  maybe  there  might  be  such  an  one  even  as  you 
say,'  returned  the  busy  neighbour ;  '  though  she  might 
not  be  easy  to  find.'  And  she  said  no  more  for  that  day. 

She  went,  however,  to  a  young  woman  who  lived 
opposite,  and  said :  '  If  you  want  a  rich  husband  I  will 
find  you  one.' 

'  To  be  sure  I  should  like  a  rich  husband,'  replied  the 
young  woman ;  '  who  would  not  ?  ' 

'  Very  well,  then,'  continued  the  neighbour ;  '  I  will  tell 
you  what  to  do.  You  have  only,  every  day  at  dinner- 
time, to  stand  at  the  window  and  suck  in  the  air,  and 
move  your  lips  as  if  you  were  eating.  But  eat  no- 
thing ;  take  nothing  into  your  mouth  but  air.  The  old 
miser  who  lives  opposite  wants  a  wife  who  can  live  on  air ; 
and  if  he  thinks  you  can  do  this  he  will  marry  you.  And 
when  you  are  once  installed  it'll  be  odd  if  you  don't  find 
means,  in  the  midst  of  so  much  money,  to  lay  hold  of 
enough  to  get  a  dinner  every  day  without  working  for  it.' 

The  young  woman  thanked  her  friend  for  the  advice, 
and  next  day,  when  the  bells  rang  at  noon,  she  threw  open 
the  window  and  stood  sucking  in  the  air,  and  then  moving 
her  lips  as  if  she  was  eating.  This  she  did  several  days. 

At  last  the  old  miser  came  across  under  the  window, 
and  said  to  her :  '  What  are  you  doing  at  the  window 
there  ? ' 

'  Don't  you  see  it's  dinner-time,  and  I'm  taking  my 
dinner  ?  Don't  interrupt  me  ! '  replied  the  young  neigh- 
bour. 

'  But,  excuse  me,3  I  don't  see  you  are  eating  anything, 
though  your  lips  move.' 

'  0  !  I  live  upon  air ;  I  take  nothing  but  air,'  replied  the 
young  woman ;  and  she  went  on  with  her  mock  munching. 


384  Ciarpe. 

4  You  live  upon  air,  do  you  ?  Then  you're  just  the 
wife  I'm  looking  for.  Will  you  come  down  and  marry 
me?' 

As  this  was  just  what  she  wanted  she  did  not  keep  him 
waiting,  and  soon  they  were  married  and  she  was  installed 
in  the  miser's  house. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  get  at  the  money  as  she  had 
thought.  At  first  the  miser  would  not  let  her  go  near  his 
cellars ;  but  as  he  spent  so  much  time  down  there  she 
said  she  could  not  be  deprived  of  his  company  for  so  long, 
she  must  come  down  too. 

All  the  time  she  was  down  with  him  the  miser  held 
both  her  hands  in  his,  as  if  he  was  full  of  affection  for 
her  ;  but  in  reality  it  was  to  make  sure  she  did  not  touch 
any  of  his  money. 

She,  however,  bought  some  pitch,  and  put  it  on  the 
soles  of  her  shoes,  and  as  she  walked  about  in  the  gold 
plenty  of  it  stuck  to  her  shoes ;  and  when  she  came  up 
again  she  took  the  gold  off  her  shoes,  and  sent  her  maid 
to  the  trattoria*  for  the  most  delicious  dinners.  Shut  up 
in  a  room  apart  they  fared  sumptuously — she  and  her 
maid.  But  every  day  at  midday  she  let  the  miser  see  her 
taking  her  fancied  dinner  of  air. 

This  went  on  for  long,  because  the  miser  had  so  much 
gold  that  he  never  missed  the  few  pieces  that  stuck  to  her 
shoes  every  day. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  Carneval  Thursday,5  when  the 
maid  had  brought  home  an  extra  fine  dinner ;  and  as  they 
were  an  extra  length  of  time  over  this  extra  number  of 
dishes  and  glasses,  the  old  miser,  always  suspicious,  began 
to  guess  there  must  be  something  wrong ;  and  to  find  it 
out  he  instituted  a  scrutiny  into  every  room  in  the  crazy 
house.  Thus  he  came  at  last  to  the  room  where  his  wife 
and  her  maid  were  dining  sumptuously. 

*  This  is  how  you  live  on  air,  is  it  ? '  he  roared,  red 
with  fury. 


7*he  Miserly  Old  Woman.  385 

'  Oh,  but  on  Carneval  Thursday,'  replied  the  wife,  '  one 
may  have  a  little  extra  indulgence  ! ' 

'  Will  you  tell  me  you  have  not  had  a  private  dinner 
every  day  ?  '  shouted  the  excited  miser. 

*  If  I  have,'  replied  the  wife,  not  liking  to  tell  a  direct 
falsehood,  '  how  do  you  know  it  is  not  with  my  own 
money  ?  Tell  me,  have  you  missed  any  of  yours  ?' 

The  miser  was  only  the  more  angry  at  her  way  of 
putting  the  question,  because  he  could  not  say  he  had 
actually  missed  the  money ;  yet  he  was  convinced  it  was 
his  money  she  had  been  spending. 

'  How  do  I  know  it  is  not  your  money,  do  you  ask  ?  ' 
he  thundered ;  '  because  if  you  had  had  any  money  of 
your  own  you  would  never  have  come  to  live  here,  you 
would  not  have  married  me.' 

But  weak  as  he  was  with  his  bread  and  water  diet,  the 
excitement   was  too   much   for  him.     As  he  said  these 
words  a  convulsion  seized  him,  and  he  fell  down  dead. 
Thus  all  his  riches  came  into  possession  of  the  wife. 

1  '  II  Vecchio  Avaro.'     (The  Avaricious  Old  Man.) 

2  '  Che  campasse  d'aria,'  who  should  subsist  on  air. 

8  '  Abbi  pazienza,'  have  patience  ;  equivalent  to '  please,'  '  pray  excuse 
me,'  &c. 

4  '  Trattoria,'  an  eating-house,  but  one  where,  as  a  rule,  dinners  are 
sent  out. 

5  '  Giovedi  grasso,'  Thursday  in  Carneval  week,  a  day  of  a  little  extra 
feasting. 


THE  MISERLY  OLD    WOMAN.1 

THERE  was  an  old  woman  who  had  three  sons,  and  from  her 
stinginess  she  could  not  bear  that  anyone  should  have  any- 
thing to  eat.  One  day  the  eldest  son  came  to  her  and 
said  he  must  take  a  wife. 

*  If  you  must,  you  must,'  replied  the  miserly  mother. 
'But  mind  she  is    one    who  brings  a  great  dowry,  eats 
little,  and  can  work  all  day  long.' 
c  c 


386  Ciarpe. 

The  eldest  son  went  his  way  and  told  the  girl  he 
was  going  to  marry  his  mother's  hard  terms.  As  the 
girl  loved  him  very  much,  she  made  no  objection,  and 
he  married  her,  and  brought  her  home.2 

The  first  morning  the  mother-in-law  came  before 
it  was  light,  and  knocked  at  the  door,  and  bid  the  bride 
get  up  and  come  down  to  her  work. 

4  It  is  very  hard  for  you,'  said  the  young  husband. 

4  Ah,  well !  I  promised  to  submit  to  it  before  we 
married,'  she  replied.  4 1  won't  break  my  promise.' 

So  she  got  up  and  went  down  and  helped  her 
mother-in-law  to  do  the  work  of  the  house.  By  twelve 
o'clock  she  was  very  hungry  ;  but  the  miserly  mother- 
in-law  only  took  out  an  apple  and  a  halfpenny  roll,  and 
gave  her  half  of  each  for  all  her  food.  She  took  it  without 
a  murmur ;  and  so  she  went  on  every  day,  working  hard, 
and  eating  little,  and  making  no  complaint. 

By-and-by  the  second  son  came  and  told  his  mother 
that  he  was  going  to  take  a  wife.  The  mother  made 
the  same  conditions,  and  the  wife  submitted  to  them 
with  equally  good  grace. 

Then  the  third  son  came  and  said  he  too  must  take 
a  wife.  To  him  the  old  woman  made  the  same  terms ; 
but  he  could  not  find  a  wife  who  would  submit  to  them 
for  his  sake.  The  girl  he  wanted  to  marry,  however, 
was  very  lively  and  spirited,  and  she  said  at  last — 

'Never  mind  the  conditions;  let's  marry,  and  we'll 
get  through  the  future  somehow.' 

Then  they  married.  When  her  son  brought  home 
this  wife,  and  the  old  woman  found  she  had  no  dowry, 
she  was  in  a  great  fury  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  help  it. 

The  first  morning,  when  she  knocked  at  their  door 
to  wake  her,  she  called  out — 

'  Who's  there  ? '  though  she  knew  well  enough. 

The  mother-in-law  answered,  4  Time  to  get  up  ! ' 

4  Oibo  ! '  exclaimed  the  young  wife.     4  Don't  imagine 


The  Miserly  Old  Woman.  387 

I'm  going  to  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  like  this ! 
I  shall  get  up  when  I  please,  and  not  before.'  Then  she 
turned  to  her  husband,  and  said,  *  Just  for  her  bothering 
me  like  this  I  shan't  get  up  till  twelve  o'clock.'  Neither 
did  she. 

The  house  was  now  filled  with  the  old  woman's 
lamentations.  'This  woman  upsets  everything!  This 
woman  will  be  the  ruin  of  us  all ! '  she  kept  exclaiming. 
But  the  third  wife  paid  no  heed,  and  dressed  herself  up 
smart,  and  amused  herself,  and  did  no  work  at  all. 

When  supper-time  came  the  old  woman  took  out  her 
apple  and  her  halfpenny  loaf,  and  cut  them  in  four 
quarters,  serving  a  bit  all  round. 

'  What's  that  ? '  said  the  third  wife,  stooping  to  look 
at  it,  as  if  she  could  not  make  it  out,  and  without  taking 
it  in  her  hand. 

'  It's  your  supper,'  replied  the  mother-in-law. 

'  My  supper !  do  you  think  I've  come  to  my  second 
childhood,  to  be  helped  to  driblets  like  that ! '  and  she 
filliped  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Then  she  went  to  her  husband  and  said — 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must  do  ;  we  must  have  false 
keys  made,  and  get  into  the  store-closet 3  and  take  what 
we  want.' 

Though  the  mother-in-law  was  so  miserly,  there  was 
good  provision  of  everything  in  the  store-closet ;  and  so 
with  the  false  keys  she  took  flour  and  lard  and  ham,  and 
they  had  plenty  of  everything.  One  day  she  had  made 
a  delicious  cake  of  curdled  sheep's  milk,4  and  she  gave  a 
woman  a  halfpenny  to  take  it  to  the  baker's  to  bake, 
saying — 

'Make  haste,  and  bring  it  back,  that  we  may  get 
through  eating  it  while  the  old  woman  is  at  mass.' 

She  was  not  quick  enough,  however,  and  the  mother- 
in-law  came  in  just  about  the  same  time  that  the  cake 
came  back  from  the  baker's.  The  third  son's  wife  to  hide 
cc  2 


388  Ciarpe. 

it  from  her  caught  it  up  and  put  it  under  her  petticoats, 
but  it  burned  her  ankles,  so  that  she  was  obliged  to  bring 
it  out.     Then  the  mother-in-law  understood   what   had 
been  going  on,  and  went  into  such  a  fury,  the  house  could 
not  hold  her. 

Then  the  third  son's  wife  sent  the  same  woman  to  the 
chemist,  saying,  '  get  me  three  pauls  of  quicksilver.'  And 
she  took  the  quicksilver,  when  the  mother-in-law  was 
asleep,  and  put  it  into  her  mouth  and  ears,  so  that  she 
could  not  storm  or  scold  any  more.  But  after  a  time  she 
died  of  vexation ;  and  then  they  opened  wide  the  store- 
room, and  lived  very  comfortably. 

1  '  La  Vecchia  Avara.'     This  story  was  told  in  emulation  of  the  last, 
otherwise  it  is  hardly  worth  reproducing.     The  only  merit  of  the  story 
consisted  in  the  liveliness  of  the   pantomime  with  which  the  words   of 
the  third  wife  were  rendered.     To  the  poor,  however,  such  a  story  is  a 
treasure,  as  it  tells  of  the  condign  punishment  of  an  oppressor ;  and  there  are 
few  of  them  who  have  not  some  experience  of  what  it  is  to  be  trampled  on. 

2  According  to  the  local  custom  prevailing  among  all  classes,  of  married 
sons   and   daughters   continuing  to   live   in   the   same  house    with  their 
parents. 

'  '  Dispensa,'  store-room. 

4  '  Pizza,'  a  cake  ;  '  ricotta,'  curds  of  sheep's  milk.' 

[Here  may  follow  a  couple  of  stories  of  mixed  folly  and 
craft.] 

THE  BEGGAR  AND   THE  CHICK-PEA* 

THERE  was  once  a  poor  man  who  went  about  from  door  to 
door  begging  his  bread.  He  came  to  the  cottage  of  a 
poor  peasant  and  said  :  '  Give  me  something,  for  the  love 
of  God.' 

The  peasant's  wife  said,  '  Good  man,  go  away ;  I  have 
nothing.' 

But  the  poor  man  said,  'Leave  me  out  something 
against  I  come  again.' 

The  peasant's  wife  answered,  '  The  most  I  can  give  you 
is  a  single  chick-pea.' 2 


The  Beggar  and  the  Chick-pea.  389 

4  Very  well ;  that  will  do,'  replied  the  poor  man ;  '  only 
mind  the  hen  doesn't  eat  it.' 

The  peasant's  wife  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  put 
out  a  chick-pea  on  the  dresser  against  the  beggar  came  by 
next  time.  While  her  back  was  turned,  however,  the  hen 
came  in  and  gobbled  it  up.  Presently  after  the  beggar 
came  by. 

'  Where's  the  chick-pea  you  promised  me  ? '  he  asked. 

4  Ah  !  I  put  it  out  for  you,  but  the  hen  gobbled  it  up ! ' 

At  this  he  assumed  an  air  of  terrible  authority,  and 
said  :  '  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  beware  lest  the  hen  should 
eat  it  ?  Now,  you  must  give  me  either  the  pea  or  the 
hen!' 

As  it  was  impossible  for  the  peasant's  wife  now  to  give 
him  the  pea,  she  was  obliged  to  give  him  the  hen. 

The  beggar,  therefore,  took  the  hen,  and  went  to 
another  cottage. 

4  Good  woman,'  he  said  to  the  peasant's  wife  ;  '  can  you 
be  so  good  as  to  take  care  of  this  hen  for  me  ? ' 

'  Willingly  enough ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife. 

4  Here  it  is  then,'  said  the  beggar ;  4  but  mind  the  pig 
doesn't  get  it.' 

4  Never  fear ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife ;  and  the  poor 
man  went  his  way. 

Next  day  the  beggar  came  back  and  claimed  his  hen. 

4  Oh,  dear  me ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife,  4  while  my 
back  was  turned,  the  pig  gobbled  it  up  ! ' 

Assuming  an  air  of  terrible  authority,  the  man  said  : 
4  Didn't  I  warn  you  to  beware  lest  the  pig  gobbled  it  up  ? 
Now,  you  must  give  me  either  the  hen  or  the  pig.' 

As  the  peasant's  wife  couldn't  give  him  the  hen,  she 
was  obliged  to  give  him  the  pig.  So  the  poor  man  took 
the  pig  and  went  his  way. 

He  came  now  to  another  cottage,  and  said  to  the 
peasant's  wife :  4  Good  woman,  can  you  take  care  of  this 
pig  a  little  space  for  me  ?  ' 


390  Ciarpe. 

'  Willingly  ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife  ;  ( put  him  in  the 
yard.' 

'  Mind  the  calf  doesn't  get  at  him,'  said  the  man. 

*  Never  fear,'  said  the  peasant's  wife,  and  the  beggar 
went  his  way. 

The  next  day  he  came  back  and  claimed  his  pig. 

'  Oh,  dear  ! '  answered  the  peasant's  wife ;  '  while  I 
wasn't  looking,  the  calf  got  at  the  pig,  and  seized  it  by  the 
throat,  and  killed  it,  and  trampled  it  all  to  pieces.' 

Assuming  an  air  of  terrible  authority,  the  beggar  said : 
'  Did  I  not  warn  you  to  beware  lest  the  calf  got  at  it  ? 
Now  you  must  give  me  the  pig  or  the  calf.' 

As  the  poor  woman  could  not  give  him  the  pig,  she 
was  forced  to  give  him  the  calf.  The  beggar  took  the 
calf  and  went  away. 

He  went  on  to  another  cottage,  and  said  to  the 
peasant's  wife  :  '  Good  woman,  can  you  take  care  of  this 
calf  for  me  ?  ' 

'  Willingly ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife  ;  '  put  it  in  the 
yard.' 

The  poor  man  put  the  calf  in  the  yard  ;  but  he  said :  '  I 
see  you  have  a  sick  daughter  there  in  bed ;  mind  she 
doesn't  desire  the  calf.' 

6  Never  fear ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife ;  and  the  man 
went  his  way. 

He  was  no  sooner  gone,  however,  than  the  sick  daugh- 
ter arose,  and  saying,  '  Little  heart !  little  heart ! 3  I  must 
have  you,'  she  went  down  into  the  yard  and  killed  the 
calf,  and  took  out  its  heart  and  ate  it. 

The  next  day  the  beggar  man  came  back  and  claimed 
the  calf. 

'  Oh,  dear  ! '  said  the  peasant's  wife,  '  while  I  wasn't 
looking,  my  sick  daughter  got  up  and  killed  the  calf,  and 
ate  its  heart.' 

Assuming  an  air  of  terrible  authority,  the  beggar  said  : 
1  Did  not  I  warn  you  not  to  let  the  sick  daughter  get  at 


The  Beggar  and  the  Chick-pea.  391 

the  calf?  Now,  either  calf  or  maiden  I  must  have  ;  make 
haste  with  your  choice ;  calf  or  maiden,  one  or  the  other  ! ' 4 

But  the  poor  woman  could  not  get  back  the  calf,  seeing 
it  was  dead,  and  she  was  resolved  not  to  give  up  her 
daughter.  So  she  said :  '  I  can't  give  you  the  calf,  be- 
cause it  is  dead.  So  I  must  give  you  my  daughter,  only 
if  I  went  to  take  her  now  while  she's  awake,  she  would 
make  such  a  fuss  you  would  never  get  her  along ;  so  leave 
me  your  sack,  that  while  she's  asleep  I  may  put  her  in  it, 
and  then  when  you  Come  back  you  can  have  her.' 

So  the  beggar  left  his  sack  and  went  away.  As 
soon  as  he  was  gone  the  peasant's  wife  took  the  sack  and 
put  some  stones  at  the  bottom,  to  make  it  heavy,  and 
thrust  in  a  ferocious  mad  dog ;  then  having  made  fast  the 
mouth  of  the  sack,  she  stood  it  up  against  the  wall. 

Next  day  the  beggar  came  back  and  asked  for  his  sack. 

'  There  it  is  against  the  wall,'  said  the  peasant's  wife. 

So  the  beggar  put  it  on  his  shoulder  and  went  away. 

As  soon  as  he  got  home,  he  opened  the  sack  to  take  out 
the  maiden  ;  but  the  ferocious  mad  dog  rushed  out  upon 
him  and  killed  him. 

1  '  II  Poverello  del  Cece.'  The  termination  of  the  word  '  Poverello '  is 
one  of  those  which  determine  the  sentiment  of  the  speaker  in  a  way  it  is 
impossible  to  put  into  English.  We  use  '  poor '  (e.g.  joined  to  the  name 
of  a  deceased  friend)  to  express  sympathy  and  endearment;  if  we  put 
'poor'  in  this  sense  before  the  expression  'povero,'  'a  poor  man,'  'poverello,' 
'  a  poor  poor  man,'  we  have  the  nearest  rendering.  Dante  calls  St.  Francis, 
apostle  of  voluntary  poverty,  '  Quel  poverel'  di  Dio.'  It  is  the  common 
expression  in  Eome  for  a  beggar.  The  '  Poverello '  in  this  story,  how- 
ever, was  not  one  that  merited  much  compassion. 

'•  '  Cece,'  vetch,  produces  a  very  large  pea  in  the  south  of  Europe,  and 
provides  a  staple  article  of  food  much  liked  among  the  lower  orders.  In 
Italy  it  is  mostly  eaten  plain  boiled,  often  cold,  or  else  in  soup  and  stews. 
All  day  long  men  go  about  the  streets  in  Eome  selling  them  (plain  boiled)  in 
wooden  pails.  Boys  buy  a  handful  as  they  would  cherries,  and  eat  them  as  they 
go  along.  In  Spain,  where  it  bears  the  name  of  '  garbanzo,'  the  favourite 
mode  of  cooking  it  is  stewed  in  oil,  with  a  large  quantity  of  red  pepper. 

3  '  Coratella,'  nice  little  heart. 

«  '  0  la  vitella, 

0  la  zitella.' 
'  Vitella,'  a  calf;  '  zitella,'  an  unmarried  person. 


392  Ciarpe. 


DOCTOR   GRILLO. 

DOCTOR  GRILLO  was  a  physician  who  had  made  himself  a 
great  name  throughout  his  whole  country,  so  that  he  was 
sent  for  and  consulted  from  far  and  wide,  and  everybody 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  very  wise  man,  whose  word  was 
final  on  any  question  of  medicine.  The  discovery  that 
'  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet '  was  made  long  before  the 
idea  so  found  expression  in  the  seventeenth  century ; 
Doctor  Gfrillo  had  a  man-servant  who  chose  to  entertain  a 
very  different  notion  of  his  merits  and  powers  from  that 
of  the  rest  of  the  world ;  and  in  time,  from  undervaluing 
his  attainments,  he  came  to  conceive  the  belief  that  he 
could  himself  do  just  as  well  as  his  master. 

One  day,  when  the  Doctor  was  out,  this  serving-man 
took  into  his  head  to  roll  up  into  a  great  bundle  his  doc- 
tor's gown  and  cap,1  a  number  of  prescriptions,  and  a 
quantity  of  bottles,  and  with  these  he  stole  away  and  be- 
took himself  to  a  far  country,  where  he  gave  himself  out 
for  the  famed  Doctor  Grrillo. 

Just  at  the  time  he  arrived,  the  queen  of  the  country 
was  in  great  suffering,  nor  could  any  native  professor  of 
medicine  succeed  in  benefiting  her.  Naturally  the  ser- 
vices of  the  great  Doctor  Grrillo  were  put  in  request  in  her 
behalf,  as  soon  as  his  cunning  servant  had  given  himself 
out  as  the  owner  of  his  world-wide  reputation,  and  fortune 
favoured  him  in  his  two  earliest  attempts.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  he  succeeded  in  satisfying  her  requirements  by  a  kind 
of  luck  and  from  that  day  forward  his  fortune  was  made, 
justifying  the  Italian  saying, '  An  ounce  of  good  fortune 
furthers  one  more  than  a  pound  of  knowledge.' 2  Every- 
where he  was  now  called  in,  and  though  he  prescribed  his 
remedies  all  higgledypiggledy,  without  science  or  expe- 
rience, not  more  of  his  patients  died  than  those  of  other 
mediciners.  The  people  were,  therefore,  quite  satisfied 


Doctor  Grillo.  393 

that  when  Doctor  Grillo  had  prescribed  the  best  had  been 
done  that  human  skill  could  afford. 

By-and-by  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  real  Doctor 
Grillo  that  a  quack  and  impostor  was  wearing  his  laurels ; 
nor  did  he  sooner  hear  the  news  than  he  set  out  to  con- 
front him. 

'  Beware  good  people  !  What  are  you  doing?'  was  his 
say.  '  This  man  knows  no  more  of  medicine  than  one  of 
yourselves  ;  you  will  all  die  if  you  trust  to  him.  He  is 
no  Doctor  Grillo.  I  am  Doctor  Grille.' 

But  all  the  people  laughed  in  his  face,  filled  as  they 
were  with  the  prepossession  of  their  first  impressions, 
and  they  began  to  drive  him  out  of  their  midst ;  but  he 
protested  so  loudly,  'I  am  Doctor  Grillo,'  that  a  wiseacre3 
in  the  crowd  thought  to  win  for  himself  a  reputation  for 
discernment  by  insisting  that  he  should  have  a  trial. 

It  happened  that  the  daughter  of  the  Chief  Judge  was 
at  that  time  stricken  with  fever,  and  as  he  had  observed 
in  the  language  and  manners  of  the  new  Doctor  Grillo 
more  traces  of  learning  and  refinement4  than  in  the  first 
arrived  of  the  name,  he  willingly  agreed  that  the  case 
should  be  submitted  to  him  for  treatment.  His  wife  had, 
however,  just  before  sent  for  the  false  Doctor  Grillo,  so 
that  both  arrived  in  the  sick-room  at  the  same  moment ; 
a.nd  loud  and  long  was  the  dispute  between  husband 
wife,  master  and  servant,  as  to  which  doctor  should  ap- 
proach the  patient.  By  the  time  the  husband  had  carried 
his  point,  and  the  real  physician  entered  upon  his  func- 
tions, the  fever  had  got  such  hold  of  the  sufferer  that  no 
medicine  more  availed,  and  the  girl  succumbed  to  the 
consequences  of  the  delay  in  administering  the  most  ordi- 
nary remedies. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  in  the  hands  of  the  real  Doc- 
tor Grillo  that  she  had  died.  The  one  proof  of  his 
identity  which  had  been  granted  had  gone  against  him, 
and  the  popular  mind  was  quite  satisfied  that  it  was  he 


394  Ciarpe. 

was  the  impostor.  As  the  pompous  funeral  of  the  Judge's 
daughter  brought  all  the  circumstances  to  the  minds  of 
the  people,  the  feeling  against  him  gathered  and  grew ; 
and  when  at  last  one  more  mischievous  and  malicious  than 
the  rest  proposed  that  he  should  be  driven  out  of  the  com- 
munity, the  idea  met  with  such  a  ready  response  that  he 
would  certainly  not  have  escaped  with  his  life  from  the 
yells  and  stone-throwing  5  of  the  infuriated  populace,  had 
not  his  retreat  been  protected  by  the  more  peaceably  dis- 
posed citizens. 

But  the  false  Doctor  Grrillo  remained  thenceforward  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  the  fame  and  fortune  attaching 
to'  the  name  he  had  filched. 

1  '  Berretta,'  (also  -written  « biretta ')  is  used  for  any  kind  of  cap  worn  by 
men  or  boys.  It  would  appear  that  no  kind  of  head-covering  except  a 
hood  to  the  cloak,  enabling  the  wearer  to  cover  the  head,  or  leave  it  bare 
at  pleasure,  was  in  common  use  in  Italy  before  the  sixteenth  century, 
though  the  '  berretta '  is  mentioned  in  documents  as  part  of  ecclesiastical, 
particularly  of  the  pontifical,  dress,  as  early  as  the  tenth  century.  The 
round  '  berretta'  coming  to  be  commonly  used  by  the  people,  their  superiors 
adopted  the  quadrated  form,  which,  with  some  modifications,  is  that  still 
adopted  by  the  Catholic  clergy.  Graduates  and  doctors  were  privileged  to 
wear  it,  hence  its  use  by  Doctor  Grillo ;  and  though  monks  generally  are 
not,  some  of  those  engaged  in  preaching  and  teaching  have  a  special  per- 
mission to  do  so.  The  Superior  of  the  Theatine  Convent  of  Naples  alone, 
among  all  superiors  of  nuns,  has  the  privilege  of  wearing  the '  berretta.' 
Orsola  Benincasa,  the  founder,  was  called  to  Rome  that  the  Pope  (Gregory 
XIII.,  1576)  might  examine  whether  the  reputation  she  had  acquired  for 
learning  and  piety  was  well  founded.  Not  only  was  the  Pope  well  satisfied 
with  her,  but  St.  Philip  Neri  also  gave  her  many  tokens  of  approval,  and, 
among  others,  in  his  playful  way,  put  his  '  berretta '  on  her  head.  This 
honour  has  been  commemorated  by  her  successors  retaining  its  use. 

*  '  Vale  piu  un  oncia  di  fortuna  che  una  libbra  di  sapere.' 

8  '  Un  saccentuzze.' 

4  '  Garbatezza.' 

5  '  Sassata,'  in  Italian,  has  a  more  terrible  significance  than  '  stone- 
throwing,'  in  English,  conveys.     The  art  of  throwing  and  slinging  stones 
with  dexterity  and  accuracy  of  aim  would  seem  to  have  been  as  favourite 
a  pastime  among  the   peasantry  in  Italy  and   Spain  as  archery  among 
our  own.      For  the  purposes  of  the  present  volume,   it    needs   only  to 
allude  to  the  Roman   development  of  the  practice.      P.  Bresciani,   who 
has  taken  more  pains  than  any  writer  of  the  present  age  in  illustrating 


Doctor  Grillo.  395 


the  local  customs  of  Eome,  tells  us  the  '  sassate '  continued  a  favourite 
diversion  of  the  youth  of  Home  almost  down  to  our  own  day,  and  it  was 
only  by  the  most  strenuous  and  vigorous  measures  that  Cardinal  Consalvi 
was  enabled  to  put  an  end  to  it ;  being  impelled  thereto  by  the  barbarous 
tone  of  feeling  it  engendered,  and  the  frequent  casualties  resulting  from  it. 
The  most  idle  and  dissolute  raggamuffins  of  the  Monti  and  Trastevere 
quarters  were  among  the  most  dexterous  of  marksmen.  Whenever  they 
aimed  a  throw,  '  fosse  di  fionda  o  fosse  di  soprammano '  (whether  from  a 
sling  or  from  the  hand)  they  were  sure  to  hit  the  mark  ;  so  that  any  one  of 
them  might  have  written,  like  the  Greek  archer  on  his  arrow,  '  for  the 
right  eye  of  Philip,'  on  his  'ciotto.'  ('Giotto'  is  a  stone  such  as  would  be 
used  for  throwing  from  a  sling,  and  thus  'ciottolo'  means  equally  a  road 
made  with  rough  stones  and  a  '  sassata.'  What  is  more  to  our  present  pur- 
pose is,  that  '  ciotto '  means  also  '  lame,'  suggesting  how  often  persons  may 
have  been  lamed  by  '  sassate ').  It  is  said  that  in  the  Balearic  islands,  it 
was  the  custom  for  mothers  to  tie  the  meals  of  their  children  to  a  branch 
of  a  tree,  and  none  got  anything  to  eat  till  he  had  hit  the  string  with  a 
stone,  and  thus  they  were  trained  to  '  fiondeggiare '  (to  throw  from  a  sling) 
perfectly.  The  Koman  raggamuffins,  instead  of  their  food,  used  to  have 
for  their  mark  the  features  of  donna  Lucrezia  and  Marforio,  and  they 
'  ciottolavanle '  (pelted  them)  with  stones  from  far  and  near.  At  other 
times  their  aim  would  be  directed  against  a  tuft  of  herbage  dangling  down 
from  the  arches  of  the  aqueducts  of  Nero  or  Claudius,  nor  would  they  rest 
from  their  aiming  till  they  had  rooted  it  out  with  their  stones.  Their 
highest  ambition  was  to  direct  a  stone  right  through  one  of  the  small 
window-openings  in  the  loftiest  range  at  the  Coliseum.  After  such  prac- 
tice, we  may  well  believe  the  stones  fell  true  when  they  had  a  living 
adversary  before  them. 

'  And  as  it  is  the  evil  custom  of  the  sons  of  Adam  to  strive  one  against 
the  other,  and  for  the  excitement  of  contention  every  village  loves  to  keep  up 
warfare  with  its  next  neighbouring  village,  so  the  "  Eioni "  of  Rome  delighted 
in  trials  of  skill  one  against  the  other.  Thus  on  every  holiday  a  hundred  or 
two  of  Montegiani  and  Trasteverini  were  to  be  found  arrayed  against  each 
other,  and  all  arranged  in  due  order  of  battle,  with  its  skirmishers  and  re- 
connoitring parties,  its  van-guard  and  rear-guard.  One  side  would  take 

the  Aventine  for  its  base  of  operations,  and  another  the  Palatine ' 

After  describing  very  graphically  the  tactics  in  vogue,  our  author  goes  on 
to  say,  '  The  adults  of  both  factions  stood  by  the  while  and  backed  up  the 
boys,  and  often  the  strife  which  had  begun  as  boys'  pastime  ended  in 
serious  maiming  of  grown-up  men.  Hence,  not  a  holiday  passed  but  some 
mother  had  to  mourn  over  a  son  brought  home  to  her  with  a  broken  head 
or  an  eye  knocked  out ;  or  some  wife  over  a  husband  riddled  (sforacchiato) 
with  wounds  .  .  .  .'  Hence  it  was  that  Cardinal  Consalvi,  as  we  have 
seen,  put  an  end  to  such  rough  play. 

[This  is  probably  a  filtering  of  one  of  the  many  stories  about 
Theophrastus  Paracelsus.  I  think  there  was  something  very 


396  Ciarpe. 

like  it  in  a  little  book  of  popular  legends  about  him  given  me  at 
Salzburg,  but  I  have  not  got  it  at  hand  to  refer  to.  Zingerle, 
'  Sagen  aus  Tirol,'  p.  417,  tells  a  story  of  his  servant  prying  into 
the  wise  man's  penetralia,  and  getting  a  worse  punishment  for 
his  pains  than  Gehazi.] 


NINA. 

THERE  was  a  miller  who  got  into  difficulties,  and  could 
not  pay  his  rent.  The  landlord  sent  to  him  a  great  many 
times  to  say  that  if  he  could  not  pay  his  rent  he  must  go 
out ;  but  as  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  notice,  the  land- 
lord went  himself  at  last,  and  told  him  he  must  go.  The 
miller  pleaded  that  his  difficulties  were  only  temporary, 
and  that  if  he  would  give  him  but  a  little  time  he  would 
make  it  all  straight.  The  landlord,  however,  was  pitiless, 
and  said  he  had  waited  long  enough,  and  now  he  had 
come  to  put  an  end  to  it ;  adding,  '  Mind,  this  is  my  last 
word  :  If  you  do  not  go  out  to-night  peaceably,  I  shall 
send  some  one  to-morrow  to  turn  you  out  by  force.' 

As  he  turned  to  leave,  after  pronouncing  this  sentence, 
he  met  the  miller's  daughter  coming  back  from  the  stream 
where  she  had  been  washing.  '  Who  is  this  buxom  lass  ?' 
inquired  the  landlord. 

'  That  is  my  daughter  Nina,'  answered  the  miller. 

'  A  fine  girl  she  is  too,'  replied  the  landlord.  '  And 
I  tell  you  what,  miller,  listen  to  me ;  give  Nina  to  me, 
and  I  will  not  only  forgive  you  the  debt,  but  will  make 
over  the  mill  and  the  homestead  to  you,  to  be  your  own 
property  for  ever.' 

'  Give  me  a  proper  document  to  that  effect,  duly 
signed  by  your  own  hand,'  replied  the  miller,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  '  and  I  will  give  you  "  Nina." ' 

The  landlord  went  back  into  the  house,  and  taking 
two  sheets  of  paper  drew  up  first  a  formal  quittance  of 


Nina.  397 

the  back  rent,  and  then  a  conveyance  of  the  mill  and 
homestead  absolutely  to  the  miller  and  to  his  heirs  for 
ever.  These  he  handed  to  the  miller  ;  and  then  he  said, 
'  To-night,  an  hour  before  sundown,  I  will  send  for 
"Nina."' 

'  All  right,'  said  the  miller  ;  '  you  shall  have  "  Nina," ' 
and  so  they  parted. 

An  hour  before  sundown  a  servant  came  with  a  car- 
riage to  fetch  "  Nina  " ' 

4  Where's  "Nina"?'  said  the  servant.  'Master  has 
sent  me  to  fetch  "  Nina." ' 

'  In  the  stable — take  her  I '  answered  the  miller. 

In  the  stable  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  very  lean 
old  donkey. 

'  There's  nothing  here  but  an  old  donkey,'  exclaimed 
the  servant. 

'All  right,  that's  "Nina,"  so  take  her,'  replied  the 
miller. 

'  But  this  can't  be  what  master  meant  me  to  fetch ! ' 
expostulated  the  servant. 

'  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  it  ? '  replied  the  miller. 
'  Your  master  told  you  to  fetch  "  Nina  ; "  we  always  call 
our  donkey  "  Nina  ; "  so  take  her,  and  be  off.' 

The  servant  saw  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by- 
disputing,  so  he  took  the  donkey  and  went  home.  When 
he  got  back,  his  master  had  got  company  with  him,  so  he 
did  not  know  what  to  say  about  the  donkey.  But  his 
master  seeing  he  was  come  back,  took  it  for  granted  the 
business  was  done ;  and  calling  him  to  him  privately  said, 
'  Take  "  Nina "  upstairs  into  the  best  bedroom  and  light 
a  fire,  and  give  her  some  supper.' 

'  Take  her l  upstairs  into  the  best  bedroom ! '  ex- 
claimed the  man. 

« Yes  !  do  what  you're  told,  and  don't  repeat  my  words.' 

The  servant  could  not  venture  to  say  any  more ;  so  he 
took  the  donkey  up  into  the  best  bedroom,  and  lit  a  fire, 


398  Ciarpe. 

and  put  some  supper  there.  As  soon  as  his  company  was 
gone,  the  master  called  the  servant — 

'  Is  "  Nina  "  upstairs  ? '  asked  he. 

'  Si,  Signore ;  she's  lying  before  the  fire,'  answered  the 
servant. 

4  Did  you  take  some  supper  up  ?  I'll  have  my  supper 
up  there  with  "  Nina."  ' 

'  Si,  Signore,'  replied  the  servant,  and  he  turned  away 
to  laugh,  for  he  thought  his  master  had  gone  mad. 

The  landlord  went  upstairs ;  but  it  had  now  grown 
dark,  so  he  groped  his  way  to  the  fireplace,  and  there 
sure  enough  was  '  Nina,'  the  donkey,  lying  down,  and  as  he 
stroked  her  he  said,  '  What  fine  soft  hair  you've  got,  Nina  !' 

Presently  the  servant  brought  the  lights ;  and  when  he 
saw  the  dirty  old  worn-out  donkey,  and  understood  what  a 
trick  the  miller  had  played  off  on  him,  it  may  be  imagined 
how  furious  he  was. 

The  next  day,  as  soon  as  the  courts  were  opened,  he 
went  before  the  judge,  and  told  all  the  tale.  Then  the 
miller  came  too,  and  told  his  ;  but  the  judge  examined 
the  documents,  and  pronounced  that  the  miller  was  in  the 
right ;  for  his  part  of  the  contract  was  that  he  was  to 
deliver  over  '  Nina,'  and  he  had  delivered  over  '  Nina.' 
There  was  no  evidence  that  any  other  *  Nina '  was  in- 
tended but  '  Nina '  the  donkey,  and  so  the  miller  remained 
in  undisputed  possession  of  the  mill. 

And  that  is  the  truth,  for  it  actually  happened  as  I 
have  told  you. 

1  '  Quella,'  in  the  original,  lends  itself  better  to  the  purposed  misunder- 
standing of  the  story,  meaning  '  that  one,' '  such  an  one  as  that ! '  in  the 
feminine  gender ;  and  the  master  would  think  the  servant  said  it  in  contempt 
because  he  spoke  of  a  miller's  daughter. 


The  Good  Grace  of  the  Hunchback.        399 

THE  GOOD  GRACE  OF  THE  HUNCHBACK.^ 

A  MOTHER  and  daughter  lived  alone  in  a  cottage.  The 
mother  was  old  and  came  to  die  ;  the  daughter  was  turned 
but  of  house  and  home.2  An  ugly  hunchback,  who  was  a 
tailor,  came  by  and  said — 

'  What  is  your  name,  my  pretty  girl  ? ' 

'  They  call  me  la  Buona  Grazia,'3  answered  the  girl. 

'  Well,  la  Buona  Grazia,  I've  got  twenty  scudi  a  month, 
will  you  come  with  me  and  be  my  wife  ?  ' 

The  girl  was  starving,  and  didn't  know  where  to  set 
her  foot,  so  she  thought  she  could  not  afford  to  refuse  ; 
but  she  went  along  with  a  very  bad  grace,  for  she  did  not 
feel  at  all  happy  at  the  idea  of  marrying  the  ugly  old 
hunchback. 

When  the  hunchback  saw  how  unhappy  she  was,  he 
thought,  '  This  will  never  do.  She's  too  young  and  too 
pretty  to  care  for  me.  I  must  keep  her  locked  up,  and 
then  when  she  sees  no  one  else  at  all,  she  will  at  last  be 
glad  even  of  my  company.'  So  he  went  all  the  errands 
himself,  and  never  let  her  go  out  except  to  Mass,  and  then 
he  took  her  to  the  church,  and  watched  her  all  the  time, 
and  brought  her  back  himself.  The  windows  he  whitened 
all  over,  so  that  she  couldn't  see  out  into  the  street,  and 
there  he  kept  her  with  the  door  locked  on  her,  and  she 
was  very  miserable. 

So  it  went  on  for  three  years.  But  there  was  a  dirty 
little  window  of  a  lumber  room  which,  as  it  only  gave  a 
look  out  on  to  the  court,4  he  had  not  whitened.  As  she 
happened  to  look  out  here  one  day  a  stranger  stood  lean- 
ing on  the  balcony  of  the  court,  for  part  of  the  house  was 
an  inn,  and  he  had  just  arrived. 

'  What  are  you  looking  for,  my  pretty  girl  ? '  said  the 
stranger. 

'  0  !  nothing  particular ;  only  I'm  locked  up  here,  and 
I  just  looked  out  for  a  change.' 


400  Ciarpe. 

'  Locked  up !  who  has  locked  you  up  ? '  asked  the 
stranger. 

'  An  old  hunchback,  who's  going  to  marry  me,'  said  the 
girl,  almost  crying. 

'  You  don't  seem  much  pleased  at  the  idea  of  being 
married,'  answered  the  stranger. 

*  It  is  not  likely  that  I  should,  to  such  a  husband ! ' 
returned  the  girl. 

'  Would  you  like  to  get  away  from  him  ? '  asked  the 
stranger. 

'  Shouldn't  I ! '  heartily  exclaimed  the  girl ;  '  but  it's 
impossible  to  manage  that,  as  I'm  locked  in,'  she  added 
sorrowfully. 

'  It's  not  so  difficult  as  you  think,'  rejoined  the  stranger. 
1  Most  likely  there's  some  picture  or  other  on  your  wall.' 

'  Oh,  yes !  a  great  big  one  with  the  fair  Giuditta  just 
ready  with  her  pouch5  to  put  LofFerno's  head  in,'  answered 
the  girl. 

4  All  right.  You  make  a  big  hole  behind  the  picture 
on  your  side,  and  when  I  hear  by  the  sound  where  you  are, 
I'll  make  one  on  mine.  And  when  our  two  holes  meet, 
you  can  come  through.' 

'  Yes,  that's  a  capital  plan ;  but  the  hunchback  will 
soon  come  after  me.' 

'  Never  mind,  I  will  see  to  that ;  let's  make  the  hole 
first?' 

'  Very  well,  I  rely  upon  you,  and  will  set  to  work 
immediately.' 

'  Tell  me  first  how  I  am  to  call  you  ? ' 

4  They  always  call  me  Buona  Grazia.' 

6  A  very  nice  name.     Good-bye,  and  we'll  set  to  work.' 

La  Buona  Grazia  ran  and  unhooked  the  picture,  and  set 
to  work  to  make  a  hole  with  all  the  available  tools  she 
could  find ;  and  the  stranger,  as  soon  as  he  had  ascertained 
by  the  noise  where  she  was  at  work,  set  to  also.  It  turned 
out  to  be  only  a  partition,6  and  not  a  regular  wall,  and  the 
hole  was  soon  cut. 


The  Good  Grace  of  the  Hunchback.        401 

'What  fun!'  said  the  girl,  as  she  jumped  through. 
'  Oh,  how  nice  to  be  free !  But,'  she  added,  '  I  can't  travel 
with  you  in  these  poor  clothes.' 

'  No,'  said  the  stranger.  '  I'll  have  a  travelling  dress 
made  for  you,  by  the  hunchback  himself.' 

'  Oh,  take  care ! '  cried  the  girl,  earnestly. 

'  Don't  be  afraid,'  answered  the  stranger  ;  '  and  above 
all  don't  look  frightened.' 

Then  he  sent  his  servant  to  call  the  hunchback,  and 
when  he  came  he  said — 

'  I  want  a  travelling  dress  made  directly  for  my  wife 
here,  so  please  take  her  measure.' 

The  hunchback  started  when  he  saw  who  it  was  he  had 
to  measure. 

'Why,  she's  exactly  like  my  Buona  Grazia!'  exclaimed  he. 

'  Very  likely.  I  have  always  observed  there  was  a  sort 
of  likeness  between  the  inhabitants  of  a  town.  She  too  is 
a  Koman,  though  I  am  a  stranger.  But  make  haste  and 
take  the  measure,  I  didn't  call  you  here  to  make  remarks.' 

The  hunchback  got  frightened  at  the  stranger's  authori- 
tative tone,  and  took  the  measure  without  saying  any 
more ;  and  the  stranger  then  gave  him  something  to  go 
and  have  a  breakfast  at  the  cafe  to  give  the  girl  time  to 
get  back  and  set  the  picture  in  its  place  again. 

When  he  came  up  into  the  room  all  looked  right,  and 
nothing  seemed  to  have  been  moved. 

'  I've  got  to  work  hard  to-day,'  said  the  hunchback,  '  to 
get  a  travelling  dress  ready  for  the  wife  of  a  gentleman 
staying  in  the  inn,  who  is  exactly  like  you.' 

'Are  they  going  to  travel,  then?'  asked  la  Buona 
Grazia. 

'  Yes,  the  gentleman  said  they  should  start  as  soon  as 
the  dress  is  done.' 

'Oh,  do  let  me  see  them  drive  off!'  said  la  Buona 
Grazia,  coaxingly.  '  I  should  so  like  to  see  a  lady  who 
looked  like  me  wearing  a  dress  you  had  made.' 

D  D 


402  Ciarpe. 

4  Nonsense,  nonsense ! '  said  the  hunchback  ;  '  get  on 
with  your  work.' 

And  she  did  get  on  with  her  work,  and  stitched  away, 
for  she  was  anxious  enough  to  help  him  to  get  the  dress 
done ;  but  she  went  on  teazing  him  all  the  while  to  let  her 
go  to  the  window  to  see  the  gentleman  and  the  lady,  '  who 
looked  so  like  her,'  drive  off,  that  at  last  the  hunchback 
consented  for  that  only  day  to  take  the  whiting  off  the 
windows  and  let  her  look  out. 

The  travelling  dress  was  finished  and  taken  home  ;  and 
while  the  hunchback  was  taking  it  up  by  the  stairs,  la  Bella 
Grazia  was  getting  in  by  the  hole  behind  the  picture ;  but 
she  had  first  made  a  great  doll,7  and  dressed  it  just  like 
herself,  and  stuck  it  in  the  window.  The  gobbo,  who  stood 
down  below  to  see  the  gentry  drive  off,  looked  up  and  saw 
her,  as  he  thought,  at  the  window,  and  made  signs  for  her 
not  to  stay  there  too  long. 

Presently  the  stranger  and  his  lady  came  down ;  the 
hunchback  was  standing  before  the  carriage  door,  as  I 
liave  said,  and  two  stablemen  were  standing  by  also. 

'  You  give  me  your  good  grace  ? ' 8  asked  the  stranger. 

1  Yes,  yes  I '  readily  responded  the  hunchback,  delighted 
to  find  a  rich  gentleman  so  civil  to  him. 

6  You  say  it  sincerely,  with  all  your  heart  ? '  again 
asked  the  stranger. 

'Yes,  yes,  yes!  with  all  my  heart,'  "answered  the 
hunchback. 

1  Then  give  me  your  hand  upon  it.' 

And  the  hunchback,  more  and  more  delighted,  put  out 
his  hand,  the  two  stablemen  standing  by  looking  on 
attentively  all  the  time. 

As  soon  as  the  carriage  had  driven  away,  the  hunch- 
back's first  care  was  to  look  up  at  the  window  to  see  if  the 
girl  had  gone  in ;  but  the  doll  was  still  there. 

'  Gro  in !  go  in ! '  he  cried,  waving  his  hand.  But  the 
figure  remained  unmoved.  Indignant,  he  took  a  stick  and 
ran  up  to  punish  the  girl  for  her  disobedience,  and  when 


The  Value  of  Salt.  403 

the  blows  fell  thick  and  fast  and  no  cries  came,  he  dis- 
covered the  trick  that  had  been  played. 

Without  loss  of  time  he  ran  off  to  the  Court  and  laid 
a  complaint  before  the  judge,  demanding  that  soldiers 
should  be  called  out  and  sent  after  the  fugitives  ;  but  the 
stablemen  had  their  orders,  and  were  there  before  him,  and 
deposed  that  they  were  witnesses  to  his  having  given  c  his 
(rood  G-race '  up  to  the  gentleman  '  with  all  his  heart,'  and 
given  him  his  hand  upon  the  bargain. 

'  You  see  you  have  given  her  up  of  your  own  accord  ; 
there  is  nothing  to  be  done  ! '  said  the  judge.  So  he  got 
no  redress. 

1  '  La  Buona  Grazia  del  Gobbo.' 

2  '  In  mezzo  alia  strada.' 

8  '  Good  Grace,'  also  the  '  good  favour,'  the  'good  graces," 

*  '  Cortile,'  inner  court  of  palaces  and  houses  that  are  built  in  a  qua- 
drangle. 

*  '  Saccoccia  di  polenta.'     '  Polenta '  is  a  porridge  made  of  Indian  corn 
meal,  which  makes  a  staple  article  of  food  of  the  Italian  peasantry.     It  is, 
however,  used  for  the  meal  of  which  the  porridge  is  going  to  be  made, 
though  that  is  more  usually  called  '  formentone,'  or  'grano  turco.'     '  Sac- 
croccia  di  polenta  '  would  be  a  large  pouch  in  which  poor  country  labourers 
carry  a  provision  of  meal,  when  going  out  to  work  in  the  Campagna.     The 
girl  takes  Giuditta's  bag  in  the  picture  for  such  a  '  saccoccia '  as  she  had 
been  used  to  see. 

8  '  Tramezzo.' 

*  '  Pupazza,'  a  doll,  a  stuffed  figure. 

8  '  Mi  date  la  vostra  buona  grazia,'  a  common  expression  of  no  par- 
ticular meaning ;  a  compliment,  equivalent  to,  '  We  part  good  friends,' 
'  Give  me  your  good  favour.' 


THE   VALUE  OF  SALT. 

THEY  say  there  was  a  king  who  had  three  daughters.     He 
was  very  anxious  to  know  which  of  them  loved  him  most ; 
he  tried  them  in  various  ways,  and  it  always  seemed  as     A 
if  the  youngest  daughter   came   out   best   by  the  test,    j 
Yet  he  was  never  satisfied,  because  ^e  ^tas  prepossessed     i** 
with  the  idea  that  the  elder  ones  loved  him  most. 

D  D  2 


404  Ciarpe. 

One  day  he  thought  he  would  settle  the  matter  once 
for  all,  by  asking  each  separately  how  much  she  loved 
him.  So  he  called  the  eldest  by  herself,  and  asked  her 
how  much  she  loved  him. 

'  As  much  as  the  bread  we  eat,'  ran  her  reply ;  and  he 
said  within  himself,  '  She  must,  as  I  thought,  love  me  the 
most  of  all ;  for  bread  is  the  first  necessary  of  our  exist- 
ence, without  which  we  cannot  live.  She  means,  there- 
fore, that  she  loves  me  so  much  she  could  not  live  without 
me.' 

Then  he  called  the  second  daughter  by  herself,  and 
said  to  her,  '  How  much  do  you  love  me  ? ' 
And  she  answered,  '  As  much  as  wine  ! ' 
'  That  is  a  good  answer  too,'  said  the  king  to  himself. 
*  It  is  true  she  does  not  seem  to  love  me  quite  so  much  as 
the  eldest ;  but  still,  scarcely  can  one  live  without  wine,1 
so  that  there  is  not  much  difference.' 

Then  he  called  the  youngest  by  herself,  and  said  to  her, 
4  And  you,  how  much  do  you  love  me  ?' 
And  she  answered,  '  As  much  as  salt ! ' 
Then   the   king   said,   *  What   a   contemptible  com- 
parison !     She  only  loves  me  as  much  as  the  cheapest  and 
commonest  thing  that  comes  to  table.    This  is  as  much  as 
to  say,  she  doesn't  love  me  at  all.     I  always  thought  it 
was  so.     I  will  never  see  her  again.' 

Then  he  ordered  that  a  wing  of  the  palace  should  be 
shut  up  from  the  rest,  where  she  should  be  served  with 
everything  belonging  to  her  condition  in  life,  but  where 
she  should  live  by  herself  apart,  and  never  come  near  him. 
Here  she  lived,  then,  all  alone.  But  though  her  father 
fancied  she  did  not  care  for  him,  she  pined  so  much  at 
being  kept  away  from  him,  that  at  last  she  was  worn  out,2 
and  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

The  room  that  had  been  given  her  had  no  windows  on 
to  the  street,  that  she  might  not  have  the  amusement  of 
seeing  what  was  going  on  in  the  town,  but  they  looked 


The  Value  of  Salt.  405 

upon  an  inner  court-yard.  Here  she  sometimes  saw  the 
cook  come  out  and  wash  vegetables  at  the  fountain. 

4  Cook  !  cook ! '  she  called  one  day,  as  she  saw  him  pass 
thus  under  the  window. 

The  cook  looked  up  with  a  good-natured  face,  which 
gave  her  encouragement. 

4 Don't  you  think,  cook,  I  must  be  very  lonely  and 
miserable  up  here  all  alone  ? ' 

4  Yes,  Signorina  ! '  he  replied ;  « I  often  think  I  should 
like  to  help  you  to  get  out ;  but  I  dare  not  think  of  it, 
the  king  would  be  so  angry.' 

'  No,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  to  disobey  the 
king,'  answered  the  princess ;  4  but  would  you  really  do 
me  a  favour,  which  would  make  me  very  grateful  in- 
deed?' 

'  0  !  yes,  Signorina,  anything  which  I  can  do  without 
disobeying  the  king,'  replied  the  faithful  servant. 

4  Then  this  is  it,'  said  the  princess.  4  Will  you  just 
oblige  me  so  far  as  to  cook  papa's  dinner  to-day  without 
any  salt  in  anything  ?  Not  the  least  grain  in  anything  at 
all.  Let  it  be  as  good  a  dinner  as  you  like,  but  no  salt 
in  anything.  Will  you  do  that  ? ' 

4 1  see  ! '  replied  the  cook,  with  a  knowing  nod.  4  Yes, 
depend  on  me,  I  will  do  it.' 

That  day  at  dinner  the  king  had  no  salt  in  the  soup, 
no  salt  in  the  boiled  meat,  no  salt  in  the  roast,  no  salt  in 
the  fried. 

4  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? '  said  the  king,  as  he 
pushed  dish  after  dish  away  from  him.  '  There  is  not  a 
single  thing  I  can  eat  to-day.  I  don't  know  what  they 
have  done  to  everything,  but  there  is  not  a  single  thing 
that  has  got  the  least  taste.  Let  the  cook  be  called.' 

So  the  cook  came  before  him. 

4  What  have  you  done  to  the  victuals  to-day?'  said  the 
king,  sternly.  4  You  have  sent  up  a  lot  of  dishes,  and  no 
one  alive  can  tell  one  from  another.  They  are  all  of  them 


406  Ciarpe. 

exactly  alike,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  can  be  eaten. 
Speak ! ' 

The  cook  answered : 

'Hearing  your  Majesty  say  that  salt  was  the  com- 
monest thing  that  comes  to  table,  and  altogether  so  worth- 
less and  contemptible,  I  considered  in  my  mind  whether 
it  was  a  thing  that  at  all  deserved  to  be  served  up  to  the 
table  of  the  king ;  and  judging  that  it  was  not  worthy,  I 
abolished  it  from  the  king's  kitchen,  and  dressed  all  the 
meats  without  it.  Barring  this,  the  dishes  are  the  same 
that  are  sent  every  day  to  the  table  of  the  king.' 

Then  the  king  understood  the  value  of  salt,  and  he 
comprehended  how  great  was  the  love  of  his  youngest 
child  for  him  ;  so  he  sent  and  had  her  apartment  opened, 
and  called  her  to  him,  never  to  go  away  any  more. 

1  In  a  wine  country  the  idea  of  wine  being  almost    a  necessity  of 
existence  occurs  more  readily  than  in  England,  where,  however  general 
its  use,  it  is  still  a  luxury. 

2  '  Era  stufa/  a  way  of  saying,  she  was  '  worn  out,'  '  wearied  out.' 


THE  PRINCESS  AND   THE  GENTLEMAN. 

THERE  was  a  princess  whose  mother  had  died  of  vexation 
because  she  was  in  love  with  a  simple  gentleman  of  the 
chamber,  and  would  not  hear  of  marrying  anyone  else,  nor 
would  she  look  at  any  prince  who  came  to  sue  for  her 
hand. 

The  king,  not  only  vexed  at  her  perversity,  but  still 
more  at  the  loss  of  his  wife,  determined  to  devise  a  punish- 
ment to  cure  them  both.  He  had  two  suites  of  apart- 
ments walled  up,  therefore;  in  one  he  had  the  princess 
imprisoned,  and  in  the  other  the  gentleman  of  the  cham- 
ber with  whom  she  was  in  love.  The  latter,  he  commanded, 
should  see  no  one,  thinking  thereby  to  weary  him  out ;  the 
former  he  allowed  only  to  see  such  persons  as  he  should 


The  Princess  and  the  Gentleman.          407 

appoint,  these  persons  being  the  princes  one  or  other  of 
whom  he  wished  her  to  marry ;  for  he  thought  that  in  her 
weariness  at  being  so  shut  up,  she  would  welcome  the  hand 
of  anyone  who  would  be  her  deliverer.  It  was  not  so, 
however.  When  the  cook  came  in  to  the  princess  with 
her  dinner,  she  begged  him  to  give  her  a  chicken  that  had 
been  killed  several  days,  and  kept  till  it  had  a  bad  smell. 

When  her  father  now  sent  any  prince  to  visit  her  she 
said,  '  It  is  no  use  my  father  sending  you  here,  the  reason 
why  I  cannot  marry  anyone  is  that  I  have  a  great  defect ; 
my  breath  smells  so  bad  that  it  is  not  pleasant  for  anyone 
to  live  with  me.' 

As  the  bad  smell  from  the  chicken  was  readily  to  be 
perceived  in  the  room,  they  all  believed  her  words  and 
went  away.  There  was  one,  indeed,  who  was  so  much 
pleased  with  her  seeming  candour  that  he  thought  he 
would  excuse  her  defect,  but  on  a  second  visit  the  smell  of 
the  dead  chicken  drove  him  away  too. 

The  cooks  in  the  kitchen  talked  together  after  the 
manner  of  cooks,  and  thus  the  cook  who  waited  on  the 
princess  told  what  had  happened  to  the  cook  who  waited 
on  the  other  prisoner,  and  thus  it  came  round  to  his  ears 
also,  what  the  princess  had  done  for  love  of  him.  Her 
stratagem  then  suggested  another  to  him.  Accordingly 
he  sent  to  crave  urgently  an  audience  of  the  king. 

When  the  king  came  in  to  him  he  said  : 

'  Sire,  closely  as  I  have  been  confined  and  guarded, 
yet  something  of  what  goes  on  in  the  outer  world  has 
reached  my  ears,  and  the  fact  which  has  the  greatest 
interest  for  me  has  naturally  been  told  to  me.  I  now 
learn  that  the  reason  why  your  daughter  has  refused  the 
suit  of  all  the  princes  is  not  as  we  thought,  her  love  for 
me,  but  a  certain  personal  defect,  which  in  politeness  I 
will  not  name  more  particularly.  But  that  being  so,  my 
desire  to  marry  her  is,  of  course,  cured  like  that  of  others  ; 
so  if  your  majesty  will  give  me  my  liberty  I  will  go  away 


408  Ciarpe. 

to  a  far  country,  and  your  majesty  would  never  hear  of  me 
any  more.' 

The  king  was  delighted  to  get  rid  of  him,  for  he 
believed  that  if  he  were  at  a  distance  the  great  obstacle 
to  his  daughter's  happiness  would  be  removed.  As  he 
knew  nothing  about  the  chicken,  he  thought  that  all  the 
suitors  had  believed  the  princess's  representations  upon 
her  simple  word ;  and  as  he  very  well  knew  she  had  no 
defect,  he  thought  the  time  would  come  when  some  prince 
should  please  her,  whom  she  also  should  please.  There- 
fore, he  very  willingly  gave  the  gentleman  his  liberty,  and 
bid  him  godspeed  on  his  journey. 

The  gentleman,  however,  before  setting  out,  went  to 
his  friend  the  cook,  and,  giving  him  three  hundred  scudi, 
begged  him  to  house  him  for  a  few  nights,  while  he  dug 
out  an  underground  passage  between  the  garden  and  the 
apartment  where  the  princess  was  imprisoned. 

In  the  garden  was  a  handsome  terrace,  all  set  out  with 
life-sized  statues  ;  under  one  of  these  the  gentleman 
worked  his  way,  till  he  had  reached  the  princess's 
chamber. 

4  You  here  ! '  exclaimed  the  princess  in  great  astonish- 
ment, as  soon  as  he  had  made  his  way  through. 

'  Yes  ;  I  have  come  to  fetch  you,'  he  replied. 

She  did  not  wait  for  a  second  injunction  to  escape 
from  prison,  but  gathering  all  the  money  and  jewels  she 
had  at  command,  she  followed  him  through  the  under- 
ground way  he  had  made. 

As  soon  as  they  had  reached  the  free  air,  the  gentle- 
man replaced  the  statue,  and  no  one  could  guess  by  which 
way  they  had  passed.  Then  they  went  to  a  church  to  be 
married,  and,  after  that,  to  a  city  a  long  way  off,  as  the 
gentleman  had  promised  the  king  he  would. 

For  a  long  time  they  lived  very  happily  on  the  money 
and  jewels  each  had  brought  from  home ;  but,  by-and- 
by,  these  came  to  an  end,  and  neither  durst  write  for 


TJie  Princess  and  the  Gentleman.          409 

more,  for  fear  of  betraying  where  they  were.  So  at  last, 
having  no  means  of  living,  they  engaged  themselves  to  a 
rich  lady  who  had  a  large  mansion  ; J  the  one  as  butler,2  and 
the  other  as  nurse.3  Here  they  were  well  content  to  live 
at  peace ;  and  the  lady  was  well  content  to  have  two  such 
faithful  and  intelligent  dependents,  and  they  might  have 
lived  here  till  the  end  of  their  lives,  but  for  a  coincidence 4 
which  strangely  disconcerted  them,  as  you  shall  hear,  as 
well  as  what  came  of  it. 

One  day  there  came  to  visit  the  lady,  their  mistress,  a 
nobleman  belonging  to  the  king's  court.  At  dinner  time 
the  princess  had  to  come  to  table  along  with  the  little 
daughter  of  the  house,  of  whom  she  had  the  charge. 
Great  was  her  terror  when  she  recognised  in  the  guest  of 
the  day  one  so  familiar  to  herself  and  so  near  the  sovereign. 
In  conformity  with  the  lowliness  of  the  station  she  had 
assumed,  she  could  escape  actually  talking  to  him,  and  she 
did  her  best  to  withdraw  herself  from  his  notice.  She  half 
hoped  she  had  succeeded,  when  suddenly  the  butler  had  to 
come  into  the  room  to  communicate  an  important  despatch 
which  had  just  arrived,  to  the  mistress  of  the  house.  The 
princess  could  not  restrain  an  anxious  glance  at  the 
stranger,  to  see  if  he  betrayed  any  sign  of  recognition  ; 
but  he  was  used  to  courts,  and  therefore  to  dissemble. ;  nor 
could  she  satisfy  herself  that  he  had  discovered  either  of 
them.  It  was  so  likely  that  he  should,  however,  that  she 
was  rilled  with  fear,  and  he  was  no  sooner  gone  than  she 
held  a  long  consultation  with  her  husband  as  to  what 
course  they  should  pursue. 

In  the  end,  the  difficulty  of  finding  other  employment 
decided  them  to  remain,  for  the  probability  that  they 
would  be  tracked  seemed  remote.  After  all,  they  reasoned, 
was  it  likely  that  the  nobleman  should  think  it  worth 
while  to  observe  two  persons  occupying  such  humble  posts 
with  sufficient  attention  to  see  who  they  were  or  who  they 
were  not  ? 


4io  Ciarpe. 

The  king  meantime  had  been  searching  everywhere  for 
his  daughter,  not  being  able  by  any  means  to  divine  how 
she  could  have  escaped.  Then  one  morning,  all  this  time 
after,  the  nobleman  comes  down  upon  him  with  the  news : 

'  I  have  found  the  princess.  She  is  living  as  nurse  to 
the  Duchessa  such  a  one,  and  her  husband  is  the  butler.' 

The  king  could  not  rest  a  moment  after  he  had  heard 
the  news  ;  his  travelling  carriage  was  ordered  round,  and 
away  he  drove.  It  was  just  dinner-time  when  he  arrived 
at  the  Duchessa's  palace.  If  the  princess  had  been  terri- 
fied before,  at  being  called  to  sit  at  table  with  a  nobleman 
of  the  court,  judge  how  much  greater  was  her  alarm  when 
she  saw  her  father  himself  seated  at  the  board  ! 

Great  as  had  been  his  indignation,  however,  the  joy  of 
again  meeting  his  child  after  the  long  separation  blotted 
out  all  his  anger,  and  after  embracing  her  tenderly,  he 
placed  her  by  his  side  at  the  table.  It  was  only  when  he 
came  to  take  leave,  and  realised  that  she  really  belonged 
to  another  that  his  ire  broke  forth  again.  At  this  point 
the  Duchessa  put  in  a  word.  She  highly  extolled  the 
excellent  qualities  of  her  butler,  and  declared  he  had 
been  so  skilful  in  the  administration  of  her  affairs,  that  he 
deserved  to  have  a  kingdom  committed  to  him.  In  short, 
she  softened  the  king's  heart  so  completely  that  she 
brought  him  to  own  that,  as  he  had  now  grown  very  old 
and  feeble,  he  could  not  do  better  than  recognise  him  for 
his  son-in-law,  and  associate  him  with  himself  in  the 
government. 

And  so  he  did,5  and  they  all  lived  happily. 

1  'Palazzo.' 

2  '  Credenziere,'  confidential  servant. 

*  '  Aia,'  upper  nurse,  nursery  governess. 

4  '  Combinazione.' 

5  '  E  cosi  fece '  (and  thus  he  did)  is  another  of  the  expressions  in  uni- 
versal use  in  Rome  in  tale-telling,  forming  a  sort  of  refrain. 


The  Happy  Couple.  41 1 


THE  HAPPY   COUPLE.1 

I  CAN  tell  you  a  story,2  or  two  perhaps.  What  a  number 
I  used  to  know,  to  be  sure !  But  what  can  I  do  ?  It  is 
thirty  years  and  more  since  anyone  has  asked  me  for 
them,  and  it's  hard  to  put  one's  ideas  together  after  such 
a  time.  You  musn't  mind  if  I  put  the  wrong  part  of  the 
story  before,  and  have  to  go  backwards  and  forwards  a 
little. 

I  know  there  was  one  that  ran  thus  : — 

There  was  a  married  couple  who  lived  so  happy  and 
content  and  fond  of  each  other,  that  they  never  had  a 
word  of  dispute  about  anything  the  live-long  day,  but 
only  thought  of  helping  and  pleasing  each  other. 

The  Devil  saw  this,  and  determined  to  set  them  by  the 
ears ;  but  how  was  he  to  do  it  ?  Such  love  and  peace 
reigned  in  their  home,  that  he  couldn't  find  any  way  into 
the  place.  After  prowling  and  prowling  about,  and  find- 
ing no  means  of  entrance,  what  does  he  do  ?  He  went  to 
an  old  woman, — she  must  have  been  one  of  those  who  dabble 
with  things  they  have  no  business  to  touch, — and  said  to  her: 

'  You  must  do  this  job  for  me ! ' 

'  That's  no  great  matter,'  answered  the  old  hag.3 . '  Give 
me  ten  scudi  for  my  niece  and  a  new  pair  of  shoes  for  me, 
and  I'll  settle  the  matter.' 

'  Here  are  the  ten  seudi,'  said  the  Devil ;  '  it  will  be 
time  enough  to  talk  about  the  shoes  when  we  see  how  you 
do  the  business.' 

The  bad  old  woman  set  off  accordingly  with  her  niece 
and  the  ten  scudi,  instructing  her  by  the  way  what  she 
was  to  do. 

This  husband  and  wife  lived  in  a  place  where  there 
was  a  house  on  one  side  and  a  shop  on  the  other,  so  that 
through  a  window  in  the  house  where  they  lived  they  could 
give  an  eye  to  anything  that  went  on  in  the  shop. 


412  Ciarpe. 

Choosing  a  moment  when  the  man  was  alone  in  the 
shop,  she  sent  the  girl  in  with  the  ten  scudi  ;  and  the  girl, 
who  had  been  told  what  to  do,  selected  a  dress,  and  a 
handkerchief,  and  a  number  of  fine  things,  and  paid  her 
ten  scudi.  Then  she  proceeded  leisurely  to  put  them 
on,  and  to  walk  up  and  down  the  shop  in  them.  Mean- 
time the  bad  old  woman  went  up  to  the  wife : — 

'  Poor  woman ! '  she  said.  '  Poor  woman !  Such  a  good 
woman  as  you  are,  and  to  have  such  a  hypocrite  of  a 
husband ! ' 

'  My  husband  a  hypocrite ! '  answered  the  wife.  « What 
can  you  mean — he  is  the  best  man  that  ever  was.' 

'  Ah  !  he  makes  you  think  so,  poor  simple  soul.  But 
the  truth  is,  he  is  very  different  from  what  you  think.' 

So  they  went  on  conversing,  and  the  bad  old  woman 
all  the  time  watching  what  was  going  on  in  the  shop  till 
the  right  moment  came.  Just  as  the  girl  was  flaunting 
about  and  showing  herself  off,  she  said  : 

'  Look  here,  he  has  given  all  those  things  to  that  girl 
there.' 

And  though  the  wife  did  not  believe  a  word,  curiosity 
prompted  her  to  look,  and  there  she  saw  the  girl  bow- 
ing herself  out  with  as  many  thanks  and  adieus  as  if 
the  poor  man  had  really  given  her  the  things  she  had 
bought. 

'  Perhaps  you  will  believe  that ! '  observed  the  bad  old 
woman. 

4  Indeed,  I  cannot  help  believing  it,'  answered  the  wife, 
'  but  never  otherwise  should  I  have  thought  it ;  and  I  owe 
you  a  great  deal  for  opening  my  eyes ;'  and  she  gave  her 
a  whole  cheese.4  4 1  know  what  I  shall  do,'  she  continued, 
as  she  sobbed  over  her  lost  peace  of  mind  ;  '  I  shall  show 
him  I  know  his  bad  conduct  by  having  no  dinner  ready 
for  him  when  he  comes  up  by-and-by.' 

'  That's  right,'  said  the  bad  old  woman.  '  Do  so,  and 
show  him  you  are  not  going  to  be  trampled  on  for  the 


The  Happy  Couple.  413 

sake  of  a  drab  of  a  girl  like  that ; '  and  she  tied  her  cheese 
up  in  a  handkerchief,  and  went  her  way. 

Down  she  went  now  to  the  husband,  and  plied  him 
with  suspicions  of  his  wife,  similar  to  those  she  had  sug- 
gested to  her  against  him.  The  husband  was  even  less 
willing  to  listen  to  her  than  the  wife  had  been,  and  when 
at  last  he  drove  her  away,  she  said : 

'  You  think  she's  busy  all  the  morning  preparing  your 
dinner;  but  instead  of  that,  she's  talking  to  those  you 
wouldn't  like  her  to  talk  with.  And  you  see  now  if  to- 
day she  hasn't  been  at  this  game  so  long  that  she  has 
forgotten  your  dinner  altogether.' 

The  husband  turned  a  deaf  ear,  and  continued  attend- 
ing to  his  shop ;  but  when  he  went  into  the  house  and 
found  no  dinner  ready,  it  seemed  as  if  all  that  the  bad 
old  woman  had  said  was  come  true. 

He  was  too  sad  for  words,  so  they  didn't  have  much  of 
a  quarrel,  but  there  could  not  but  be  a  coldness  after  such 
an  extraordinary  event  as  a  day  without  dinner. 

The  husband  went  back  to  his  shop  and  mused.  The 
wife  sat  alone  in  her  room  crying ;  presently  the  old  hag 
came  back  to  her. 

4  Well,  did  you  tell  him  you  had  found  him  out?'  she 
inquired. 

'No!  I  hadn't  courage  to  do  that.  And  he  was  so 
patient  about  there  being  no  dinner,  that  I  felt  quite  sorry 
to  have  suspected  him.  Oh,  you  who  have  been  so  clever 
in  pointing  out  my  misery  to  me,  can  you  not  tell  me 
some  means  of  reconciliation  ? ' 

'Yes,  there  is  one;  but  I  don't  know  if  you  can 
manage  it.' 

'  Oh  yes ;  I  would  do  anything  ! ' 

'  Then  you  must  watch  till  he  is  quite  sound  asleep, 
and  take  a  sharp  razor  and  cut  off  three  hairs  from  the 
undergrowth  of  his  beard,  quite  close  to  the  skin.  If  you 
do  that  it  will  all  come  right  again.' 


414  Ciarpe. 

1  It  seems  a  very  odd  remedy,'  said  the  wife ;  '  but  if 
you  say  it  will  do,  I  suppose  it  will,  and  thank  you  kindly 
for  the  advice  ; '  and  she  gave  her  another  cheese. 

Then  the  witch  went  back  to  the  husband. 

'  I  suppose  I  was  mistaken,  and  you  found  your  dinner 
ready  after  all  ? '  she  said. 

'  No  ! '  he  replied  ;  '  you  were  right  about  there  being 
no  dinner ;  but  I  am  certain  there  was  some  cause  for 
there  being  none,  other  than  what  you  say.' 

'  What  other  cause  should  there  be  ? '  exclaimed  the 
old  woman. 

'That  I  don't  know,'  he  replied.  'But  some  other 
cause  I  am  persuaded  there  must  have  been.' 

'  Well,  if  you  are  so  infatuated,  I  will  give  you  another 
token  that  I  am  right,'  replied  the  old  woman.  'You 
don't  deserve  that  I  should  save  your  life,  but  I  am  so 
goodnatured,  I  can't  help  warning  you.  To-night,  I  have 
reason  to  know,  she  intends  to  murder  you.  You  just 
give  some  make-believe  snoring,  but  mind  you  don't  sleep, 
whatever  you  do  ;  and  you  see  if  she  doesn't  take  up  one 
of  your  razors  to  stab  you  in  the  throat.' 

The  good  husband  refused  to  believe  a  word,  and  drove 
her  away.  Nevertheless,  when  night  came  he  felt  not  a 
little  anxious  ;  and  if  he  had  tried  to  sleep  ever  so  much 
he  could  not,  for  he  felt  so  excited.  Then  curiosity  to 
see  if  the  woman's  words  would  come  true  overcame  him, 
and  he  pretended  to  snore. 

He  had  not  been  snoring  thus  long,  when  the  wife 
took  up  the  razor  and  came  all  trembling  to  the  bedside, 
and  lifted  up  his  beard. 

A  cold  sweat  crept  over  the  poor  husband  as  she  ap- 
proached— not  for  fear  of  his  life,  which  he  could  easily 
rescue,  as  he  was  awake — but  because  the  proof  seemed 
there  that  the  old  hag  had  spoken  the  truth.  However, 
instead  of  taking  it  for  granted  it  was  so,  and  refusing  to 
hear  any  justification — perhaps  killing  her  on  the  spot,  as 


The  Happy  Couple.  415 

she  had  hoped  and  expected, — he  calmly  seized  her  arm, 
and  said : 

'  Tell  me,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  razor  ? ' 
The  wife  sank  on  her  knees  by  his  side,  crying : 
'  I  cannot  expect  you  to  believe  me,  but  this  is  really 
how  it  was.  An  old  woman  came  and  told  me  you  were 
making  love  to  a  young  girl  in  the  shop,  and  showed  me 
how  she  was  bowing  and  scraping  to  you.  I  was  so  vexed, 
that  to  show  you  my  anger  I  got  no  dinner  ready ;  but 
afterwards,  I  felt  as  if  I  should  like  to  ask  you  all  about 
it,  to  make  sure  there  was  no  mistake  :  only  after  what  I 
had  done,  I  didn't  know  how  to  begin  speaking  to  you 
again.  Then  I  asked  the  old  woman  if  she  couldn't  tell 
me  some  means  of  bringing  things  straight  again ;  and 
she  said,  if  I  could  cut  off  three  hairs  from  the  under- 
growth of  your  beard,  all  would  come  right.  But  I  can't 
expect  you  to  believe  it.' 

i  Yes,  I  do,'  replied  the  husband.  '  The  same  old 
wretch  came  to  me,  and  wanted  me  in  like  manner  to 
believe  all  manner  of  evil  things  of  you,  but  I  refused  to 
believe  you  could  do  anything  wrong.  So  I  had  more 
confidence  in  you  than  you  had  in  me.  But  still  we  were 
both  very  nearly  making  ourselves  very  foolish  and  very 
unhappy ;  so  we  will  take  a  lesson  never  to  doubt  each 
other  again.' 

And  after  that  there  never  was  a  word  between  them 
any  more. 

When  the  Devil  saw  how  the  old  woman  had  spoilt 
the  affair,  he  took  the  pair  of  shoes  he  was  to  have  given 
her,  and  tied  them  on  to  a  long  cane  which  he  fastened 
on -the  top  of  a  mountain,  and  there  they  dangled  before 
her  eyes,  but  she  could  never  get  at  them. 

1  'I  sposi  Felici.' 

2  '  Esempio,'  see  preface.     '  Esempiuccio,'  a  termination  of  endearment, 
meaning  in  this  place  '  a  nice  "  esempio." ' 

8  '  Vecchiaccia,'  bad  old  woman. 

4  '  Forma  di  formaggio,'  a  whole  cheese.     '  Cacio,'  the  proper  word  for 


4 1 6  Ciarpe. 

cheese,  is  almost  entirely  superseded  by  '  formaggio,'  which  comes  from 
'  forma,'  the  press  or  mould  in  which  it  is  made. 

[This  is  just  the  Siddi  Kiir  story  of  the  mischief-making 
fox,  which  I  have  given  as  '  The  Perfidious  Friend '  in  '  Sagas 
from  the  Far  East,'  and  similar  to  the  first  Pantcha  Tantra 
story.] 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  ROOM  OF  A  HOTEL.1 

THEY  say  there  was  a  countess  who  was  very  fond  of  her 
husband,  and  her  husband  was  very  fond  of  her ;  and  they 
vowed  nothing  should  ever  make  the  one  think  ill  of  the 
other. 

One  day  the  brother  of  the  countess,  who  had  been 
long  away  at  the  wars,  and  whom  the  count  had  never 
seen,  came  back  to  see  her  just  while  the  count  was  out. 

c  Now  we'll  have  some  fun,'  said  the  countess.  '  We'll 
watch  till  my  husband  is  coming  home,  and  then  as  he 
comes  into  the  room  you  just  be  kissing  me  ;  he  will  be 
so  astonished  to  see  a  stranger  kissing  me,  he  will  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  Then  in  five  minutes  we  will 
tell  him  who  you  really  are,  and  it  will  make  a  good 
laugh.' 

The  brother  thought  it  would  be  a  good  joke,  and 
they  did  as  she  had  said. 

It  happened,  however,  that  by  accident  2  the  count 
did  not  that  day  as  usual  come  into  his  wife's  room,  but 
passing  along  the  terrace  in  front  of  it,  he  saw,  as  she  had 
arranged,  one  who  was  a  stranger  to  him  kissing  her. 

Then  he  went  into  his  room,  and  calling  his  confidential 
servant3  he  told  him  what  had  happened,  and  adding, 
4  You  will  never  see  me  any  more,'  went  his  way. 

The  countess  waited  on  and  on  for  her  husband  to 
come  in,  full  of  impatience  to  have  her  joke  out.  But 
when  she  found  he  did  not  come  at  all,  she  went  into  his 


What  happened  in  the  Room  of  a  Hotel.     417 

room  to  seek  him  there.  There  she  found  the  servant, 
who  told  her  what  the  Count  had  said,  and  the  desperate 
resolution  he  had  taken. 

'  What  have  I  done  !'  exclaimed  the  terrified  Countess. 
'  Is  it  possible  that  I  am  to  be  punished  thus  for  a  harm- 
less joke ! ' 

Then,  without  saying  anything  to  anyone  she  wrapped 
her  travelling  cloak  about  her,  and  set  out  to  seek  her 
husband. 

The  Count  had  walked  on  till  he  could  walk  no  farther, 
and  then  he  had  gone  into  an  inn,  where  he  hired  a  room 
for  a  week  ;  but  he  went  wandering  about  the  woods  in 
misery  and  despair,  and  only  came  in  at  an  hour  of  night.4 

The  Countess  also  walked  on  till  she  could  walk  no 
farther,  and  thus  she  came  to  the  same  inn  ;  but  as  she 
had  only  a  woman's  strength  the  same  journey  took  her  a 
much  longer  time,  and  it  was  the  afternoon  of  the  next 
day  when  she  arrived.  She  too  asked  for  a  room,  but  the 
host  assured  her  with  many  expressions  of  regret,  that  he 
had  not  a  single  room  vacant.  The  Countess  pleaded  her 
weariness  ;  the  man  reiterated  his  inability  to  serve  her. 

'  Give  me  only  a  room  to  rest  a  little  while  in,'  she 
begged ;  '  just  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then  I  will  start 
again  and  journey  farther.' 

Eeally  compassionating  her  in  her  fatigue,  the  man 
now  said  : 

'  If  you  will  be  satisfied  with  that  much,  I  can  give 
you  a  room  for  a  couple  of  hours ;  but  no  more.' 

She  was  fain  to  be  satisfied  with  that,  as  she  could  get 
no  more,  and  the  host  showed  her  into  her  husband's 
room,  which  he  would  not  want  till  '  an  hour  of  night.' 

By  accident,  however,  the  Count  came  in  that  night 
an  hour  earlier,  and  very  much  surprised  he  was  to  find  a 
lady  in  his  room.  The  Countess,  equally  surprised  to  see 
a  stranger  enter,  pulled  her  veil  over  her  face,  so  that 
they  did  not  recognise  each  other. 
£  E 


41 8  Ciarpe. 

'  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  madam,  but  this  room,  I 
must  inform  you,  I  have  engaged,'  said  the  count ;  but 
sorrow  had  so  altered  his  voice  that  the  countess  did  not 
know  it  again. 

'I  hope  you  will  spare  me,'  replied  the  Countess. 
*  They  gave  me  this  room  to  rest  in  for  two  hours,  and  I 
have  come  so  long  a  way  that  I  really  need  the  rest.' 

6 1  can  hardly  believe  that  a  lady  of  gentle  condition 
can  have  come  a  very  long  way,  all  alone  and  on  foot,  for 
there  is  no  carriage  in  the  yard ;  so  I  can  only  consider 
this  a  frivolous  pretext,'  replied  the  Count,  for  sorrow  had 
embittered  him. 

'  Indeed  it  is  too  true  though,'  continued  the  Countess. 
'  I  came  all  the  way  from  such  a  place  (and  she  named 
his  own  town)  without  stopping  for  one  moment's  rest.' 

4  Indeed ! '  said  the  Count,  his  interest  roused  at  the 
mention  of  his  own  town ;  '  and  pray  what  need  had  you 
to  use  such  haste  to  get  away  from  that  good  town  ?' 

4 1  had  no  need  to  haste  to  leave  the  place,'  replied 
the  Countess,  hurt  at  the  implied  suspicion  that  she  was 
running  away  for  shame.  '  I  hasted  to  arrive  at  another 
place.' 

'  And  that  other  place  was ? '  persisted  the  Count, 

who  felt  that  her  intrusion  on  his  privacy  gave  him  a  right 
to  cross-question  her. 

The  Countess  was  puzzled  how  to  reply.  She  had  no 
idea  what  place  she  was  making  for. 

'  That  I  don't  know,'  she  said  at  last,  with  no  little 
embarrassment. 

'  You  will  permit  me  to  say  that  you  seem  to  have  no 
adequate  reason  to  allege  for  this  unwarrantable  occupa- 
tion of  my  room ;  and  what  little  you  tell  me  certainly  in 
no  way  inclines  me  to  take  a  favourable  view  of  the  affair.' 

The  Countess  was  once  more  stung  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  seemed  to  view  her  journey,  and  feeling  bound 
to  clear  herself,  she  replied  : 


The  Countess  s  Cat.  419 

4  If  you  only  knew  what  my  journey  is  about,  you 
would  not  speak  so ! '  and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Softened  by  her  distress,  the  Count  said  in  a  kinder 
tone  : 

'  Had  you  been  pleased  to  confide  that  to  me  at  first, 
maybe  I  had  not  spoken  so  ;  but  till  you  tell  me  what  it 
is,  what  opinion  can  I  form  ? ' 

'  This  is  it,'  answered  the  Countess,  still  sobbing.  'Yes- 
terday I  was  the  happiest  woman  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
living-  in  love  and  confidence  with  the  best  husband  with 
whom  woman  was  ever  blessed.  So  strong  was  my  con- 
fidence that  I  hesitated  not  to  trifle  with  this  great  hap- 
piness. My  brother  came  home  from  the  wars,  a  stranger 
to  my  husband.  "  Let  him  see  you  kiss  me,"  I  said,  "  it 
will  seem  so  strange  that  we  will  make  him  laugh 
heartily  afterwards."  He  saw  him  kiss  me,  but  waited  for 
no  explanation.  He  went  away  without  a  word,  as  indeed 
(fool  that  I  was)  I  well  deserved,  and  I  journey  on  till  I 
overtake  him.' 

The  Count  had  risen  to  hi&  feet,  and  had  torn  the  veil 
from  her  face. 

'  It  can  be  no  other  but  my  own ! '  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  from  which  sorrow  being  banished  his  own  tones 
sounded  forth,  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

1  '  Una  Camera  di  Locanda.' 

2  '  Combinazione.' 
8  '  Credenziere.' 

4  '  Un  ora  di  notte ' ;  an  hour  after  the  evening  '  Ave.' 


THE  COUNTESS'S  CAT.1 

THERE  was  a  very  rich  Countess  who  was  a  widow  and  lived 
all  alone,  with  no  companion  but  only  a  cat,  after  her 
husband  died.     The  greatest  care  was  taken  of  this  cat, 
and  every  day  a  chicken  was  boiled  on  purpose  for  him. 
One  day  the  CouLtessa  went  out  to  spend  the  day  at  a 

EB   2 


420  Ciarpe. 


friend's  villa  in  the  Campagna,  and  she  said  to  the  waiting 
woman  : 

1  Mind  the  cat  has  his  chicken  just  the  same  as  if  I 
were  at  home.' 

'  Yes !  Signora  Countessa,  leave  that  to  me,'  answered 
the  woman ;  but  the  Countess  was  no  sooner  gone  out 
than  she  said  to  the  man-servant : 

'  The  cat  has  the  chicken  every  day ;  suppose  we  have 
it  to-day  ? ' 

The  man  said,  4  To  be  sure  ! '  and  they  ate  the  chicken 
themselves,  giving  the  cat  only  the  inside  ;  but  they  threw 
the  bones  down  in  the  usual  corner,  to  make  it  appear  as 
if  he  had  eaten  the  whole  chicken. 

The  cat  said  nothing,  but  looked  on  with  great  eyes, 
full  of  meaning.2 

When  the  Countess  came  back  that  evening  the  cat, 
instead  of  going  out  to  meet  her  as  he  always  did,  remained 
still  in  his  place  and  said  nothing. 

*  What's  the  matter  with  the  cat  ?  Hasn't  he  had  his 
chicken  ?  '  asked  the  Countess,  immediately. 

4  Yes !  Signora  Countessa,'  answered  the  cameriera. 
*  See,  there  are  the  bones  on  the  floor,  where  he  always 
leaves  them.' 

The  Countessa  could  not  deny  the  testimony  of  her 
eyes,  so  she  said  nothing  more  but  went  up  to  bed. 

The  cat  followed  her  as  he  always  did,  for  he  slept  on 
her  bed ;  but  he  followed  at  a  distance,  without  purring 
or  rubbing  himself  against  her.  The  Countess  saw  some- 
thing was  wrong,  but  she  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it, 
and  went  to  bed  as  usual. 

That  night  the  cat  throttled  3  the  Countess,  and  killed 
her. 

The  cat  is  very  intelligent  in  his  own  interest,  but  he 
is  a  traitor. 

'  It  would  have  been  more  intelligent,'  I  observed,  '  if 
he  had  throttled  the  waiting  woman  in  this  instance.' 


Why  Cats  and  Dogs  always  quarrel. 


421 


Not  at  all ;  the  cat's  reasoning  was  this : — If  thou 
hadst  not  gone  out  and  left  me  to  the  mercy  of  menials, 
this  had  not  happened ;  therefore  it  was  thou  who  hadst 
to  die. 

This  is  quite  true,  for  cats  are  always  traitors.  Dogs 
are  faithful,  cats  are  traitors.4 

1  '  II  Gatto  della  Contessa.' 

2  '  II  gatto  non  dissi  niente,  ma  guardara  con  certi  occhi  grossi,  grossi, 
fissi.' 

3  '  Strozzato,'  throttled  ;  killed  by  wounding  the  stroszo,  throat. 

4  '  E  questo  e  un  fatto  vero,  sa ;  perche  il  gatto  e  traditore  sempre.     II 
cane  e  fedele  si,  ma  il  gatto  e  traditore.' 

[Perhaps  this  tale  would  have  been  hardly  worth  printing,  but 
that  the  selfsame  story  was  told  me  as  a  positive  fact  by  an 
Irishman,  who  could  not  have  come  across  the  Italian  story.  In 
the  Irish  version  it  was  its  master  the  cat  killed ;  in  the  wording 
of  the  narrator  he  '  cnt  his  throat.'] 


WHY  CATS.  AND  DOGS  ALWAYS   QUARREL* 

«  WHY  do  dogs  and  cats  always  fight,  papa  ? '  we  used  to 
say. 

And  he  used  to  answer,  '  I'll  tell  you  why ; '  and  we  all 
stood  round  listening. 

4  Once  on  a  time  dogs  and  cats  were  very  good  friends, 
and  when  the  dogs  went  out  of  town  they  left  their  cards 
on  the  cats,  and  when  the  cats  went  out  of  town  they  left 
their  cards  on  the  dogs.' 

And  we  all  sat  round  and  listened  and  laughed. 

'  Once  the  dogs  all  went  out  of  town  and  left  their 
cards  as  usual  on  the  cats ;  but  they  were  a  long  time 
gone,  for  they  were  gone  on  a  rat-hunt,  and  killed  all  the 
rats.  When  the  cats  heard  that  the  dogs  had  taken  to 
killing  rats,  they  were  furious  against  the  dogs,  and  lay 
in  wait  for  them  and  set  upon  them. 


422  Ciarpe. 

(  "  Set  upon  the  dogs  !  at  them  !  give  it  them  ! "  ' 2 
shouted  the  cats,  as  they  flew  at  them  ;  and  from  that 
time  to  this,  dogs  and  cats  never  meet  without  fighting.' 

And  we  all  stood  round  and  laughed  fit  to  split  our 
sides. 

1  '  Perch&  litigano  sempre  i  Cani  ed  i  Gatti.' 

2  « Dalli !  Dalli  ai  cani ! ' 

[Scheible,  Schaltjahr  I.,  375,  gives  a  more  humorous  version 
of  this.] 


THE  CATS   WHO  MADE   THEIR  MASTER  RICH. 

4  AH  !  as  to  cats  and  mice,  listen  and  I'll  tell  you  something 
worth  hearing"! 

'  In  America,  once  upon  a  time,  there  were  no  cats. 
Mice  there  were  in  plenty  ;  mice  everywhere  ;  not  peeping 
out  of  holes  now  and  then,  but  infesting  everything,  swarm- 
ing over  every  room ;  and  when  a  family  sat  down  to  meals, 
the  mice  rushed  upon  the  table  and  disputed  the  victuals 
with  them. 

*  Then  one  thought  of  a  plan  ;  he  freighted  three  ships  ; 
full,  full  of  cats,  and  off  to  America  with  them.  There  he 
sold  them  for  their  weight  in  gold  and  more,  and  whiff ! 
the  mice  were  swept  away,  and  he  made  a  great  fortune. 
A  great  fortune,  all  out  of  cats ! ' 

[In  the  '  Russian  Folktales '  is  also  a  version  of  the  Whit- 
tington  story,  p.  43.] 


APPENDICES. 


APPENDIX  A.  p.  xx. 

I  HAVE  done  injustice  to  the  part  assigned  to  the  horse  in 
French  legendary  tales  by  omitting  mention  of  it  in  this  place. 
Charles  Louandre  ('  Chefs-d'oeuvre  des  conteurs  Fra^ais,'  Paris, 
1873,  note  to  pp.  43-4)  calls  special  attention  to  it  and  gives  us 
the  name  of  many  horses  famous  in  the  old  French  minstrelsy. 
There  was  '  Valentin,'  the  horse  of  Roland ;  '  Tencedor,  of 
Charlemagne  ; '  '  Barbamouche,  swifter  than  the  swallow  ;  '  and 
many  others.  But  there  is  no  name  to  the  charger  in  the 
graceful  '  Lai  de  Graelent,'  by  Marie  de  France,  whose  fidelity 
is  the  occasion  of  his  Note.  I  ought  not  to  have  forgotten 
either,  the  honours  paid  him  in  the  Spanish  Romances,  of  which 
the  brave  '  Black  Charger  of  Hernando '  ('  Patranas  ')  may  serve 
as  the  type. 


APPENDIX  B. 

Mr  attention  has  been  called,  while  these  sheets  have  been  pass- 
ing through  the  press,  to  a  collection  which  enables  me  to  sub- 
join some  notes  of  analogies  between  the  Folktales  of  France 
and  those  in  the  text.  It  is  entitled  '  Recueil  des  Contes  des 
Fees,'  Geneva,  1718;  published  without  author's  name,  and 
the  stories  are  much  less  artificially  treated  than  in  the  better 
known  collections  of  the  Comtesse  d'Aulnoy,  de  Caylus,  Per- 
rault,  Madame  de  Villeneuve,  &c. 

Monteil  ('  Traite  de  Materiaux-Manuscrits,'  Paris,  1835) 
mentions  a  MS.  in  his  possession,  of  the  year  1618,  entitled 
'  Contes  des  Fees,'  from  which  Perrault,  the  least  artificial  of  the 
French  collectors,  seems  to  have  drawn  his  tales.  Mayer  ('  Dis- 


426  Appendices. 

cours  sur  1'Origine  des  Contes  des  Fees,'  Geneva  and  Paris, 
1786)  ascribes  to  him  the  revival  of  the  knowledge  of  the  exist- 
ence of  popular  fairy  tales  and  mediaeval  romances,  and  many 
of  our  own  Nursery  Rimes  (notably  '  Puss  in  Boots ' )  are  simply 
translated  from  his  versions. 

'Prince  Rainbow'  ('Le  Prince  Arc-en- Ciel'),  the  fifth  story 
in  the  '  Recueil,'  contains  similar  incidents  with  those  in  '  Fila- 
granata,'  in  combination  with  the  introduction  of  the  opening 
of  a  nut  in  place  of  one  of  the  oranges  in  my  next  story.  (I 
have  another  Roman  story  in  MS.  which  hinges  on  the  opening 
of  three  nuts  in  the  place  of  three  oranges.)  In  the  French 
story  the  ire  of  the  bad  fairy  is  excited  against  the  princess 
"who  holds  the  place  of  Filagranata,  by  her  receiving  the  name 
of '  Fairer-than-Fairies '  ('  Plus-belle-que-Fee' ).  The  bad  fairy 
Lagree,  who  is  so  old  that  she  has  only  one  tooth  and  one  eye, 
carries  her  off  to  an  underground  palace,  where  her  task  is  to 
tend  a  fire,  instead  of  feeding  pigeons.  Here  she  is  courted  by 
a  prince  transformed  into  a  rainbow,  whom  she  finds  of  course 
always  seated  in  the  sunshine  on  a  fountain.  While  talk- 
ing to  him,  she  lets  her  fire  out.  Lagree  sends  her  to  get 
fresh  fire  from  the  giant  Locrinos,  devourer  of  maidens;  the 
giant's  wife  takes  compassion  on  her,  and  gives  her  the  fire,  and 
with  it  a  stone  to  use  in  time  of  distress.  Lagree,  in  fury  at 
her  success,  sends  away  Prince  Rainbow.  Fairer-than-Fairies 
escapes,  and  goes  in  search  of  him,  taking  with  her  the  stone,  a 
branch  of  myrtle,  and  her  cat  and  dog ;  when  she  is  weary  with 
wandering,  the  stone  provides  her  a  cave  to  sleep  in,  the  dog 
keeping  guard.  Lagree  pursues  her  ;  the  dog  attacks  her,  and 
throws  her  down,  BO  that  she  breaks  her  only  tooth,  and  the 
princess  escapes  for  another  stage.  Lagree  overtakes  her  again 
us  she  is  sleeping  in  a  bower  the  branch  of  myrtle  has  raised 
for  her.  The  cat  makes  the  defence  this  time,  scratching  out 
her  only  eye,  finally  disabling  her.  After  this,  Fairer-than- 
Fairies  is  entertained  in  a  white  and  green  palace  by  a  white 
and  green  lady,  who  gives  her  a  nut,  to  be  used  only  in  direst 
need.  After  another  year's  wanderings,  another  white  and  green 
lady  gives  her  a  pomegranate ;  at  the  end  of  another  year, 
another  gives  her  a  crystal  vial.  Afterwards  she  comes  to  a  silver 
palace,  suspended  by  silver  chains  from  four  trees.  She  then 
breaks  the  nut ;  a  Swiss  appears  and  admits  her,  and  she  finds 


Appendix  B.  427 

Prince  Rainbow  in  an  enchanted  sleep,  ansAvering  to  the  kiss  of 
forgetfulness  in  '  Filagranata.'  Fairer-than-Fairies  breaks  open 
the  pomegranate,  all  the  pips  become  violins,  whose  melody 
makes  the  prince  open  his  eyes.  She  breaks  open  the  crystal 
flask,  and  a  Seiren  appears,  who  sings  the  tale  of  all  the  princess 
has  endured.  The  prince  wakes— the  spell  is  ended.  The  silver 
palace  turns  into  a  real  and  inhabited  one.  They  embrace,  and 
are  married. 

'Incarnat,  Blanc  et  Noir,'  in  the  same  '  Recueil,'  is  very 
similar  to  the  '  Three  Love-Oranges.'  A  prince  walking  out  in 
the  snow  sees  a  crow.  He  tries  his  skill  at  bringing  him  down, 
and  the  black  bird  falls  bleeding  on  the  white  snow.  The  sight 
makes  him  desire  a  maiden  who  combines  these  three  tints. 
Suddenly  a  voice  tells  him  to  go  to  the  '  Kingdom  of  Marvels,' 
and  that  there  he  will  find  a  tree  with  splendid  apples  (they  are 
not  expressly  said  to  be  golden).  He  is  to  take  three,  and  not 
to  open  them  till  he  reaches  home.  Curiosity  overcomes  him 
by  the  way;  he  opens  one,  and  a  beautiful  maiden  appears; 
before  he  can  embrace  her  she  disappears.  Afterwards,  his 
homeward  travels  lead  him  on  the  sea ;  the  desire  to  open  one 
of  the  apples  again  overcomes  him,  but  though  he  orders  the 
vessel  to  be  closely  covered  down  all  over,  the  second  maiden 
disappears  like  the  first.  He  only  opens  the  third  on  reaching 
home,  and  then  there  comes  to  him  a  maiden  exactly  such  as 
he  desired,  whom  he  marries.  Afterwards  he  goes  to  the  wars  ; 
and  the  mother-in-law,  who  hated  her  all  along,  kills  her,  and 
throws  her  body  in  the  castle  moat,  and  substitutes  another 
woman,  a  creature  of  her  own.  The  prince  expresses  his  sur- 
prise, but  she  assures  him  the  different  appearance  is  only  the 
effect  of  a  spell.  The  prince,  however,  pines  after  his  own 
maiden.  One  day  he  sees  swimming  in  the  castle  moat  a  fish 
with  red,  white,  and  black  scales,  which  he  spends  all  his  tune 
in  gazing  at.  The  false  wife  pretends  she  has  an  irrepressible 
desire  to  eat  that  particular  fish ;  she  is  in  a  delicate  state 
of  health,  and  he  cannot  refuse  her.  After  that  a  tree  springs 
up  suddenly,  which  once  more  presents  the  three  colours.  The 
false  wife  (inspired  by  the  mother-in-law)  demands  that  it  shall  be 
cut  down  and  burnt.  He  cannot  refuse  her.  Finally,  a  palace, 
built  of  rubies,  pearls,  and  jet,  suddenly  appears  by  the  side 
of  his  own.  By  unheard-of  exertion  he  gets  into  it,  and  there 


428  Appendices. 

finds  in  a  cabinet  his  own  maiden,  whom  he  recalls  to  his 
side. 

Another  ('  Le  Buisson  d'Epines  fleuries')  contains  noticeable 
analogies  with  both  the  group  of  '  The  Pot  o£  Marjoram,  and 
that  of  '  Maria  Wood.'  The  mother  of  a  fairy  princess  is  led  to 
fill  the  stepmother's  part  towards  her,  by  her  having  so  lavishly 
distributed  the  ointment  of  perpetual  youth,  which  had  been 
entrusted  to  her  keeping,  that  none  is  left  for  the  queen's  own 
use  when  she  desires  to  have  recourse  to  it  to  regain  the  lost 
affections  of  her  husband,  an  earthly  king.  The  governess  comes 
to  the  aid  of  the  princess,  and  they  fly  away  together  with  tents 
and  all  requisites  of  the  journey  stowed  away  in  pearls  for  tra- 
velling boxes  (some  analogy,  perhaps,  with  the  '  Candeliera'). 
Their  adventures  bring  them  across  Prince  Zelindor,  who  mar- 
ries the  princess.  The  vengeance  of  the  fairy  mother  pursues 
them  in  various  shapes,  till  at  last  she  turns  Zelindor  into  a 
Sweet  Briar.  The  princess  is  attracted  towards  the  plant,  and 
tends  it  with  the  greatest  care,  without  knowing  it  is  her  hus- 
band. The  enraged  fairy  queen  orders  her  to  pluck  a  branch, 
and  she  is  obliged  to  obey.  The  plant  flows  with  blood,  and 
Zelindor  declares  she  is  the  cause  of  his  death  ;  at  this  juncture 
the  husband  of  the  fairy  queen,  fetched  by  the  benevolent 
governess,  appears.  His  return  reconciles  the  queen  to  her 
daughter ;  and  with  an  elixir  she  heals  Zelindor's  wounds,  and 
restores  him  to  his  bride. 

Perrault's  rimed  fable  of  '  Peau  d'Ane '  is  much  nearer 
*  Maria  Wood.'  The  dying  queen  binds  the  king  to  marry  no 
one  who  does  not  surpass  her  in  beauty  and  understanding.  Only 
their  daughter  comes  up  to  the  mark.  Her  fairy  godmother 
tells  her  to  ask  for  the  brilliant  dresses,  and  finally  for  the  skin 
of  a  gold-coin-producing  donkey.  The  king  sacrifices  even  this. 
The  fairy  tells  her  to  put  on  this  skin  while  she  stows  her  sun- 
beam dresses,  jewels,  &c.,  in  a  press  which  she  promises  shall 
follow  underground  wherever  she  carries  her  wand.  She  is 
made  hen-wife  in  a  king's  farmyard,  and  puts  on  her  brilliant 
dresses  on  holidays  in  her  private  room.  The  prince  sees  her 
through  the  keyhole,  and  falls  ill  because  his  parents  object  to 
the  union.  '  Peau  d'Ane '  makes  him  a  cake  into  which  she  drops 
one  of  her  rings.  The  prince  is  charmed  with  the  idea  of  the 


Appendix  B.  429 

hand  it  suggests  to  him ;  his  malady  increases,  and  this  softens  his 
parents.  He  says  he  will  marry  no  one  but  her  whom  the  ring 
fits,  and  thus  of  course  '  Peau  d'Ane  '  marries  him. 

The  counterpart,  in  Perrault,  to  the  group  to  which  '  II  Re 
Moro'  belongs  is  a  very  clever,  but  somewhat  artificially  told 
story,  called  '  Kadour.'  Kadour,  an  exquisitely  beautiful  princess 
of  Cashmere,  is  utterly  deficient,  not  in  riches,  like  the  chicory - 
seller's  daughter,  but  in  mind.  She  comes  one  day  to  a  hole  in 
the  ground,  and  a  monstrous  figure  comes  out  of  it,  and  offers 
her  the  gift  of  mind,  on  condition  of  marrying  him  in  a  year. 
Without  knowing  what  mind  is,  she  has  perceived  that  all  her 
exceeding  beauty  has  been  powerless  to  attract  any  of  the  atten- 
tion she  has  seen  lavished  on  others,  and  she  gives  a  sort  of 
stupid  consent.  The  monster  tells  her  that  the  gift  of  mind  is 
to  be  obtained  by  simply  repeating  the  words,  '  O  Love,  who 
canst  inspire  all  things ;  if  it  needs  but  to  love  to  lose  my  insi- 
pidity, behold  I  am  ready  ! ' 

1  0  toi  qui  peux  tout  animer, 
Amour,  si  pour  n'etre  plus  b6te 
II  ne  faut  que  savoir  aimer, 
Je  suis  prete.' 

In  proportion  as  she  repeats  these  words  she  is  filled  with  in- 
telligence ;  but  no  sooner  is  she  so  gifted  than  everyone  appre- 
ciates and  surrounds  her,  and  she  soon  falls  in  love  with  Arada, 
the  handsomest  of  her  adorers.  When  the  monster  returns  at 
the  end  of  the  year,  and  takes  her  down  to  his  palace  through 
the  hole  in  the  earth,  she  is  in  great  perplexity  what  decision  to 
make.  She  perceives  that  either  way  she  must  lose  Arada,  and 
says  that  she  cannot  give  any  answer  ;  the  monster  says  he  will 
decide  for  her,  and  send  her  back  to  her  first  estate.  Her 
newly-acquired  powers,  however,  give  her  such  loathing  of  this 
condition,  that  she  finally  prefers  retaining  her  mind  even  on  the 
terrible  condition  already  propounded.  The  monster  declares 
himself  King  of  the  Gnomes,  master  of  boundless  riches,  and 
every  kind  of  luxury  and  pleasure  is  lavished  on  her,  as  on  the 
chicory-seller,  to  reconcile  her  with  her  situation ;  but  in  this 
case  all  in  vain.  She  contrives  to  let  Arada  know  her  unhappy 
position,  that  she  may  have  the  benefit  of  his  sympathy.  The 
gnome-king  punishes  her  by  transforming  his  handsome  person 


430  Appendices. 

into  a  duplicate  of  his  own,  so  that  Kadour  never  knows  to  which 
of  them  she  is  speaking. 

This  story  is  better  known  under  the  title  of  '  Riquet  h  la 
Houpe,'  under  which  name  it  has  been  dramatised ;  in  this, 
however,  the  senseless  but  beautiful  princess  has  the  compen- 
satory faculty  of  rendering  handsome  her  mind-giving  but 
hideous  lover,  and  therefore  the  happy  denouement  is  easily 
worked  out.  It  is  also  the  foundation  of  'Beauty  and  the 
Beast ; '  and  probably  springs  from  the  same  idea  as  that  em- 
bodied in  the  Ardshi  Bordshi  story  I  have  given  as  '  Who  in- 
vented Woman,'  in  '  Sagas  from  the  Far  East.' 

A  sort  of  counterpart  to  the  story  of  '  II  Re  Moro  '  is  given 
under  the  title  of  '  Le  Prince  Sincer,'  in  Gueulette's  'Fabliaux, 
ou  Soirees  Bretonnes,'  but  this  series  seems  to  be  but  a  rechauffe 
of  Oriental  tales,  and  not  a  collection  of  local  traditions,  as  the 
name  leads  one  to  expect,  notwithstanding  that  he  introduces 
Druids  into  them.  The  story  I  have  named  forms  a  link  also 
in  some  of  its  details  with  that  in  the  text  called  '  I  Satiri.' 
Another  of  the  same  series,  called  '  Le  Prince  Engageant,'  has 
some  analogy  with  the  '  Tre  Merangoli  di  Amore '  (The  Three 
Love-Oranges),  in  a  prince  finding  his  bride  by  giving  her  a 
pomegranate  while  she  is  transformed  as  a  dragon. 

In  a  note  to  his  translation  of  the  ballad  of  '  Peredur  ou  le 
Bassin  Magique,'  Th.  de  la  Villemarque  l  gives  a  Breton  version 
of  the  '  Three  Golden  Apples '  story.  Peredur  is  induced  to 
abandon  the  state  of  retirement  in  which  his  mother  has  kept 
him,  after  the  death  of  his  father  and  his  five  brothers,  by  see- 
ing Owen  ride  by,  *  seeking  the  knight  who  divided  the  apples 
at  the  Court  of  Arthur.'  Upon  this  the  annotator  remarks  that 
the  episode  here  alluded  to  has  not  been  discovered ;  but,  by 
way  of  compensation,  he  supplies  the  following,  which  was  told 
him  by  a  peasant  of  the  diocese  of  Quimper,  who  could  not 
read,  and  had  received  it  by  tradition  from  his  forefathers. 

King  Arthur  was  holding  a  feast  at  Lannion,  in  Brittany ; 
five  other  kings  assisted  at  it,  with  their  wives  and  their  suite. 

1  '  Contes  Populaires  des  anciens  Bretons,  precedes  d'un  Essai  sur 
1'origine  des  Epopees  chevaleresques  de  la  Table  Eonde.'  Par  Th.  de  la 
Villemarque.  Paris  et  Leipzig,  1842. 


Appendix  C.  431 

Just  as  dinner  is  over  Merlin  appears,  and  hands  three  golden 
apples  to  the  king,  and  says  they  are  to  be  adjudged  to  the  three 
most  beautiful  women.  There  is  a  great  commotion,  and  blood 
is  about  to  flow  in  the  dispute,  when  an  unknown  knight  ad- 
vances into  the  hall,  mounted  on  a  black  charger  with  so 
luxuriant  a  mane  that  it  envelops  both  him  and  his  rider.  The 
cause  of  dispute  is  referred  to  him  for  arbitration.  He  takes  up 
the  three  apples,  and  compares  their  colour  to  the  hair  of  the 
five  queens,  and  their  perfume  to  the  ladies'  breath  ;  but  settles 
the  competition,  like  '  the  Gold- Spitting  Prince,'  in  '  Sagas  from 
the  Far  East,'  by  disappearing  with  the  prize. 

He  further  quotes,  from  '  Myvyrian,'  i.  151,  152,  155,  that 
Merlin  was  so  fond  of  apples  that  he  devoted  a  poem  to  their 
celebration,  and  declared  he  had  an  orchard  with  147  apple- 
trees  of  the  greatest  beauty ;  their  shade  was  as  valued  as  their 
fruit,  and  was  confided  to  the  care,  not  of  a  dragon,  but  of  a  fair 
maiden,  with  floating  hair  and  teeth  like  drops  of  dew. 


APPENDIX  C.  p.  195. 

IT  ought  to  have  been  remarked  under  Note  1,  that  Abelard's 
name  is  spelt  Abailard  in  old  French,  which  brings  it  nearer 
the  name  in  the  legend. 


APPENDIX  D.  p.  196. 

CARDINAL  VALERIC,  Bishop  of  Verona  (in  his  'De  Rhetorica 
Christiana '  cited  in  Ludovic  Lalanne's '  Curiosites  des  Traditions,' 
iv.  403-4),  has  a  very  ingenious  mode,  among  others,  of  ac- 
counting for  the  amplification  of  Legends ;  he  says  it  was  the 
custom  in  many  monasteries  to  give  the  young  monks  liberty  as 
a  sort  of  exercise  and  pastime  to  write  variations  of  the  acts  of 
the  saints  and  martyrs,  and  they  exerted  their  fancy  in  pro- 
ducing imaginary  conversations  and  incidents  of  a  nature  con- 


432  Appendices. 

sonant  with  the  original  story  ;  that  the  most  ingenious  and  •well- 
written  of  these  would  sometimes  be  placed  among  other  MSS. 
in  the  Library,  and  would  mislead  readers  in  later  times. 


APPENDIX  E.  p.  208. 

CHARLES  LOITANDRE  ('  Chefs-d'oeuvre  des  Conteurs  Francais,' 
Paris,  1873)  gives  an  episode  out  of  the  '  Voyage  d'outremer  du 
Comte  de  Ponthieu '  (a  Roman  of  the  thirteenth  century),  which 
has  curious  analogies  both  with  this  tale  of  the  Pilgrims,  with 
another  Eoman  story  I  have  in  MS.,  and  with  that  of  '  The  Irish 
Princess '  in  '  Patranas.'  Adele  de  Ponthieu  was  married  to 
Thiebault  de  Domart.  They  go  a  pilgrimage  to  S.  James  of 
Compostella  to  pray  that  they  may  have  heirs.  Robbers  over- 
come them  by  the  way,  bind  Thiebault  to  a  tree,  and  ill-treat 
Adele.  As  soon  as  she  escapes  from  them  Thiebault  calls  to 
her  to  cut  his  bonds  with  his  sword  ;  she,  judging  it  better  that 
he  should  die  than  live  to  blush  for  her,  attempts  to  take  his  life 
with  the  same  blow  which  severs  the  cord ;  he  foresees  her  in- 
tention and  circumvents  it.  He  does  not  divine  her  motive,  but 
yet  makes  no  allusion  to  the  matter  till  they  return  from  their 
pilgrimage,  then  he  puts  it  as  an  A  and  B  case  to  her  father ; 
the  father  decides  such  a  woman  should  die.  She  is  put  into  a 
barrel  and  cast  into  the  sea ;  the  barrel  is  picked  up  by  mer- 
chants who  sell  her  to  the  Sultan,  and  she  becomes  the  mother 
of  the  mother  of  Saladin.  Meantime  her  father  and  husband 
cannot  rest  for  love  of  her,  they  go  to  search  the  world  over  for 
her.  A  shipwreck  makes  them  the  property  of  the  Sultan  who 
makes  a  present  of  them  to  Adele.  She,  recognising  them,  pre- 
tends to  be  a  Saracen  soothsayer,  and  by  revealing  her  acquaint- 
ance with  their  previous  history,  like  the  injured  Queen  in  '  The 
Pilgrims,'  brings  them  to  an  expression  of  penitence  and  of 
lasting  love  for  her.  She  then  escapes  with  them  and  lives 
happily  with  her  husband,  the  Pope  prescribing  to  her  a  certain 
penitential  rule  of  life  to  purge  her  involuntary  infidelity. 


F.  433 


APPENDIX  F.  p.  392. 

THE  centenarian  Guillaume  Boucher  (1506-1606)  gives  in  his 
'  Serees '  a  French  story  (called  '  The  Fish-bone ')  of  a  quack 
doctor  favoured  by  luck,  to  whom  he  gives  the  name  of  Messire 
Grille.  Charles  Louandre  ('  Chefs-d'oeuvre  des  conteurs  Fran- 
9ais,'  p.  278)  points  out  that  doctors  hardly  ever  figure  in 
popular  literature  before  the  sixteenth  century,  though  after  the 
Renaissance  they  became  the  constant  subject  of  satire ;  and  that 
thus  Moliere  did  little  more  than  collect  the  jokes  at  their  ex- 
pense which  had  been  floating  during  the  previous  half-century. 


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